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Chapter Text

“You have surpassed the expectations of your instructors,” the president of the council says, his voice flat and his face stoic. “Your final record is flawless.”

Spock inclines his head in a silent motion of gratitude.

The president of the council lowers his PADD and stares directly at Spock. Illogically, he feels a bout of discomfort under the president’s gaze, a weakness he is sure some members of the council would exploit immediately. “The council has decided,” the president continues suddenly, “that you are hereby accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy. It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage. All rise.”

Spock allows himself to blink in surprise at the president’s words. He pulls himself up and meets the council’s gaze. “If you would clarify, Minister: to what disadvantage are you referring?”

The president exchanges a quick glance with the council members to his side. “Your human mother,” he says, his voice betraying none of his condescension.

Spock feels ice creep through his chest as a familiar rage burns quietly in the recesses of his mind. Avoiding his father’s eyes, he says evenly, “Council . . . Ministers, I must decline.”

The council’s president almost sputters, something Spock privately takes great pleasure in. “No Vulcan has ever declined admission to this academy!” he comes close to exclaiming.

“Then, as I am half-human, your record remains untarnished,” Spock replies, remaining calm when it seems the minister cannot.

“Spock, you have made a commitment to honor the Vulcan way.”

Only at the sound of his father’s voice does Spock dare to glance his way. What he sees is unsurprising--rage burns silently in his father’s eyes, no doubt at Spock’s rebellion. A shadow of that rage licks at the bond Spock shares with his father, a testament to how truly upsetting Spock’s insurrection must be that the emotion would slip through his father’s control.

Spock is turned from his father’s gaze when the president of the council says, “Why did you come before this council today? Was it to satisfy your emotional need to rebel?” Spock is truly surprised at how much of the president’s indignation is reflected in his voice.

He considers the possibility that the council is correct. Perhaps Spock truly does want to rebel. Perhaps this final insult to his mother was the tipping point. Either way, Spock decides right then that he is tired of trying to satisfy his father’s insistence that he needs to become the perfect Vulcan. He decides that he has dedicated enough of his life to one half of his heritage. Perhaps it is time to pay homage to the half that was gifted so tenderly to him by his mother.

So with rebel fire burning in his eyes, Spock allows his emotions to bleed into his voice for the first time since his kahs-wan . “The only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you, Ministers, for your consideration,” he says, meeting every one of their gazes--even his father’s. “Live long and prosper,” he says. And he turns to leave.

Just before he makes it to the door, Spock realizes that if he is about to throw Vulcan propriety to the wind and embrace his humanity, then he had better do it properly.

Without any hesitation, Spock lifts his hand as smoothly as one would when delivering the ta’al and flips the council what he believes is called “the bird.”

Despite his confidence in the council chamber, Spock is a wreck of nerves when he stumbles into his mother’s office. He closes the door behind him and starts rambling a story similar to the events that had just occurred. Wordlessly, his mother gently pushes him into a chair opposite her desk and retrieves a cup of tea for him. Carding her fingers through his hair, she says to him softly, “Your father will not be pleased, Spock.”

Spock nods numbly. “Affirmative. He . . . expressed some of his displeasure in the council chamber.”

Amanda nods silently, pressing her palm against the back of Spock’s neck. Not for the first time, Spock is comforted as his mother projects her support and confidence. After a few moments, she asks him softly, “What will you do now, sweetie?”

Finding security in his mother’s old pet name, Spock takes a deep breath. “I wish to enlist in Starfleet, Mother.”

“Spock . . .” his mother gasps softly, “Spock, you know the Vulcan Council has forbidden Vulcan from enlisting in Starfleet.”

Spock nods, his gaze still numb. “Yes, but as I told the ministers: I am only half-Vulcan.”

He can feel his mother regarding him silently, measuring his resolve. “Your father will not allow you to do this.”

Spock takes a deep breath, fortifying that part of himself that is still a boy longing for his father’s approval. “He cannot dictate my actions anymore,” Spock says quietly. “It is my life to live, and I do not wish to be surrounded by individuals who see the parts of me you gave as a . . . disadvantage.” It is a struggle to keep his displeasure from his voice.

She cards her fingers through his hair again, and this time Spock feels a whisper of his mother’s sorrow. “Sarek will not allow you to return to us if you defy him, my son. He will--he’ll disown you, and I won’t see you again,” she says quietly into his hair, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Spock turns to his mother. He looks into her eyes and feels all the love he holds for her bubble to the surface. His eyes feel wet as he realizes the fact in her words. Cupping her face, he says, “I love you, Mother. You will see me again, on Earth or in the skies.” He takes wipes away some of her tears as his own slip silently down his face. “Perhaps,” his voice catches, “perhaps it will be some time until then, but I will not leave you, Mother. I have spent my life seeking Sarek’s approval, but now I only wish to honor you.”

“Oh Spock,” Amanda says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “you have already done me every honor a mother could ask for.”

“Then let me give you the honors mothers do not ask for,” Spock replies, allowing a small smile to slip onto his lips.

Amanda nods, her eyes still wet. “Very well. Let’s get you all packed then.”

Spock inclines his head. “I thank thee, Mother”

His mother stands. “Spock, you will need to hide your Vulcan heritage,” she says gravely. “Starfleet and the Federation will not risk upsetting the Vulcan Council.”

“I agree,” he says. “I will find a way, Mother.”

Amanda presses her hand against his cheek again, smiling sadly at him. “I love you, Spock. No matter what your father says, please keep in touch with me.”

Spock closes his eyes and presses back into his mother’s touch. “I would not dream of doing otherwise, Mother.”

Spock arrives at the spaceport Earth One many hours later. His father, true to his mother’s prediction, threatened to disown him if he stepped foot on the transport to Terra. Spock simply stared at his father, his face a perfect Vulcan mask, before turning to his mother. Gifting her a sad smile that mirrored her own, he bid her goodbye and boarded the transport with only a small glance behind him.

Now, however, Spock feels apprehensive as he takes in the busy space port. In a fit of anxiety, Spock checks and double checks the boarding pass for his next transport, even though his eidetic memory assures him of the correct dock. Reaching his destination, Spock takes a seat in the waiting area next to a human woman near his age.

From his peripheral, Spock studies her. He finds her features objectively aesthetically pleasing, especially as her hair falls over her shoulder and curtains the opposite side of her face. Finding himself evermore curious about her, he glances at her PADD and is startled to find her reading a manual for a starship class transporter. Suddenly, she looks up at him. Spock finds himself meeting her gaze before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Are you a part of Starfleet?” he asks bluntly.

The woman seems a bit startled herself. “I am,” she replies cooly. She stares at him for a moment before holding her hand up in a perfect ta’al . “My name is Nyota Uhura. Communications track.”

Spock instinctually returns the ta’al . “I am Spock. I am to join Starfleet myself.”

Nyota regards him carefully. “The Vulcan Council has forbidden citizens of Vulcan from enlisting in Starfleet,” she says, her voice betraying nothing in true Vulcan fashion. Spock briefly finds irony in the fact that a human is currently more Vulcan than he is. “Forgive me from making a false assumption,” she continues, “but you are from Vulcan, right?”

Spock nods. “Indeed. However, my mother is human. I have a dual citizenship from Vulcan and Earth,” he informs her. “And all Earth citizens are legally allowed to enlist.”

“That’s true,” Nyota says carefully. “But that doesn’t guarantee acceptance to the Academy. You look like a Vulcan. Starfleet won’t risk any bad press--especially if it concerns they’re longest, strongest ally.”

“I have considered this as well,” Spock says slowly. He finds himself hoping Nyota will help him in his plight somehow. “Regardless,” he says, “I feel as though my place is here, in Starfleet.”

Nyota hums quietly to herself. She looks away from him for a moment before looking back at him. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” she says, her tone calculating.

“I find that I am willing to do most anything to achieve my goals, Miss Uhura,” Spock replies, hoping against all logic that he will meet her standards.

“Well,” she says after a moment, “I think know someone who could help you.”

Spock feels a smile crack through the Vulcan mask. “You have my gratitude, Miss Uhura.”

Nyota smiles back at him. “Please, Spock. I feel like we’re going to be friends. It’s Nyota.”

“Friends,” Spock repeats quietly, allowing some of his awe to color his voice. He has never had a friend before.

After their transport lands in San Francisco, Nyota takes him to the medical facilities on the Academy grounds. Spock feels his apprehension return as he avoids the curious gazes of the cadets and nurses that mill about him. They no doubt wonder what a Vulcan is doing at Starfleet. Following closely behind Nyota, Spock enters a quieter section of the hospital. Glancing around him, he decides that they must be near the doctors’ personal offices.

Nyota pushes through the doors of an office without knocking and calls quite loudly, “Hey, Len, I’m calling in that favor you owe me!”

Spock follows her inside, albeit more hesitantly. He looks around the office silently, taking in the worn out couch with a pillow and blanket strewn about and the pictures of a human child on the desk. Behind the desk sits a human man who seems to Spock the opposite of what a doctor should be. He reminds Spock of a grizzled old sehlat--irritable and short tempered. The man’s stubble and dark circles enhance the scowl on his face as he stares at Nyota.

With a heavy sigh, the man--Leonard McCoy, Spock concludes from the name badge clipped to the doctor’s coat--says to Nyota in a voice burdened with fatigue, “God, Nyota, if it ain’t Jim comin’ a knockin’, it’s someone else.” Spock notices a subtle drawl to his voice that he finds hard to place.

Nyota gives Dr. McCoy a charming smile. “Now, Len, I know you’re always glad to see me, right?”

The doctor huffs in apparent amusement. “You would know, huh?” he says, a small smiling teasing his face. “What can I do for ya?”

Nyota gestures wordlessly to Spock, finally bringing Dr. McCoy’s attention to him. “This is Spock, and he wants to enlist,” she informs him simply.

Spock straightens under McCoy’s gaze, illogically unsettled by the way the doctor seems to see though him.

“Well,” Dr. McCoy says matter-a-factly, “there’s a problem there. This man’s a Vulcan.”

“Half,” Spock interjects quickly. “I am half-Vulcan. My mother is human.”

Dr. McCoy blinks, his face going slack. “Okay,” he says slowly, “so that gives you legal access to enlistment. But Starfleet--”

“Won’t care, we know,” Nyota interrupts him. “Len, what if he didn’t look like a Vulcan?”

“Didn’t look like a . . .” McCoy let his words leave him as he rubbed his chin in thought. “It’d be a stretch. His academic advisor would need to be aware of his situation if we want to avoid any trouble,” the doctor rambles. “He might have to change his name, and he’d have to act like a human. Not to mention the hassle of getting past his medical records . . .”

“Len,” Nyota says, interrupting his muttering, “is it doable?”

Dr. McCoy meets her eyes and gives her a curt nod. “But only if we get Pike on board,” he says quickly, pointing a finger at them as Nyota begins to smile. “Man’s been rambling to Jim for ages about getting a Vulcan in Starfleet.”

Nyota flashes Spock a victorious smile. He feels triumph bubble in his chest as he looks to the doctor. “When can we begin?” he asks.

“Right now,” McCoy replies, his smile determined.

When Spock looks at himself in the mirror two hours later, he finds it hard to recognize himself. Although his face has not changed, he is startled by the fake human eyebrows McCoy has attached to his face. Turning his head experimentally, Spock briefly finds himself missing his pointed ears as they hide under a pair of synthetic rounded tips.

As Spock inspects his new features, he begins to see more and more of his mother in himself and less of Sarek.

And for the first time since he began his schooling, Spock is pleased in his human features.

Nyota only allows him a moment more in front of the mirror before dragging him back to the seat before McCoy’s desk. “Okay,” she says, placing her hands on his shoulders, “you look considerably less Vulcan now, but I still want to do something about this hair.”

“What is wrong with my hair?” Spock asks as Nyota runs her fingers through it.

“Well there’s nothing wrong with it, per say,” she informs him, “but no one on Earth has worn their hair like this in centuries. You need something more updated.”

Spock considers this. “What do you suggest?”

He catches Nyota’s dangerous grin in the mirror. “I’m so glad you asked.”

After about fifteen minutes of Nyota pulling her fingers through Spock’s hair and rubbing various creams into his head, Nyota announces that she has finished with his hair and that he is free to look.

Spock rises from his chair slowly and looks at himself in the mirror. Nyota has styled his hair so it is pushed back and away from his forehead. He tentatively runs a hand through it and marvels at how soft it had remained despite the mousse Nyota has it set in.

“Do you like it?” Nyota asks him quietly.

Spock cannot find the words in him and simply nods. Nyota beams, clapping her hands together in delight. Suddenly, Dr. McCoy barges into the room, waving a PADD in the air triumphantly. “I just came back from talking to Pike and--” he pauses, taking in Spock’s new appearance. “Well, I’ll be damned,” McCoy breathes, his hands on his hips. “I’d never have guessed there was a green-blooded computer here two hours ago.”

Spock glances at Nyota warily. “Was that meant as a derogatory reference?”

“It’s how Len shows his affection,” she says to him quietly. Spock purses his lips and lets a noncommittal sound speak for him. Still grinning, Nyota turns to McCoy. “What did Pike say?”

The doctor blinks before jolting into movement. “Oh yeah!” he exclaims. “It sure was something tryin’ to get to talk to him privately, let me tell ya. Jim was there when I showed up, and that boy couldn’t keep his nose outta a vat of Tellarite mucus if he thought it knew something he wan’ed to know.” McCoy notices Spock’s worried look and softens. “Don’t you worry, Spock. No one knows about all this but us and ol’ Pike.”

Spock nodded, letting his gratitude show in his face. Nyota taps her foot impatiently. “But what did Pike say , Len?”

McCoy nods, taking his PADD in his hands. “Pike says he’ll help us,” the doctor says, handing Spock the PADD. “He wants Spock to fill out this application and then hand it in to him in person tomorrow at 0800.” McCoy smiles at Spock. “He, uh, does suggest that you try to use a different name.”

Spock looks down at the application loaded onto the PADD. “I suppose Spock is quite Vulcan,” he acquiesces. Spock meets McCoy’s gaze. “A different name would not invalidate my application, would it?”

McCoy considers his question for a moment. “I mean, it might. But we can get around that if you legally changed your name.”

“I suppose that would be the . . . logical approach,” Spock says quietly.

Nyota and McCoy exchange amused smiles. Crossing his arms, McCoys asks, “So what’s you’re human name gonna be, Spock?”

Spock considers this for a moment. He remembers, suddenly, the days he spent in his youth with his sister on Vulcan. “Michael,” he says. “My sister was named Michael.”

“Michael,” Nyota says, turning to name around on her tongue. “I like it.”

McCoy nods. “It’s as good as any, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Spock says. Looking back at the PADD, he begins to type in his name. When he finishes, he looks up at his . . . friends. Slowly, he holds out his right hand in the customary Earth greeting known at a “handshake.” Taking a deep breath, he says, “Hello, my name is Michael Grayson, and I would like to apply to Starfleet.”

Chapter Text

Nyota flutters around Spock like a Risan butterfly, quick and nervous as she straightens his hair and clothing. As they push through the halls of the Command building, Spock finds sanctuary in Nyota’s fussing. His nerves crash through him without mercy. Finally, they arrive at Captain Pike’s office. The secretary seated just outside the door spares them a quick glance before he returns to his paperwork.

Spock takes a deep breath, allowing himself to show his nerves. Nyota squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll do great, S--Michael,” she says, smiling bashfully at her slip.

Sparing her a quick smile, Spock returns her solidarity with a quick touch to the elbow. He steps forward and announces himself to the secretary and is waved in immediately.

Stepping into the captain’s office, Spock is immediately struck by the office is, at first glance, quite impersonal. Spock looks around a quickly takes in the side table behind Pike’s desk cluttered with pens, stones, and model ships. On Pike’s desk, Spock spies multiple picture frames, no doubt containing photographs of those important to the captain.

After surveying the room, Spock takes in Christopher Pike himself. He finds himself admiring how the man is able to command the attention of the room, even from behind his desk. Pike smiles at him and Spock can feel his kindness radiate from the crinkle in his eye.

“Good morning,” Pike greets him. He gestures to one of the seats before his desk. “Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

Spock allows a tight lipped smile to grace his face as he sits down. He hands Pike the PADD with his Academy application. “Thank you for meeting with me, Captain,” he says courteously.

Pike smiles again. “Thank you for applying to Starfleet, Spock,” he says, his eyes glinting with humor and mischief. “Well, let’s go over your application, shall we?” he says, turning to the PADD.

Uncharacteristically Vulcan but appropriately human, Spock fidgets in his seat. He wipes his palms on his pants, wishing illogically that his mother could be here. After what Spock hesitates to categorize as a few agonizing moments, Pike sets down the PADD and threads his hands together. The captain’s gaze is hard and calculating as he looks Spock up and down.

“Why do you wish to join Starfleet, Michael?” Pike asks.

Spock opens his mouth to explain what had occured with the VSA council, but takes a moment to consider. He starts again, his words stemming from a part of him he feels he hid away many years ago in the red sands of Vulcan. “I have always wished to board a ship and take my studies into space,” he begins. “For many years, I accepted that I would join the Vulcan Science Academy and serve on one of their exploratory vessels. However, I am beginning to believe that I have always been dissatisfied with this path for myself.” Spock steels himself the same way he did before the council. “I wish for the opportunities a Federation Starship will provide, both of the scientific nature and of diplomatic nature.”

The sparkle in Pike’s eyes takes a more triumphant gleam. “Well, your record is outstanding, Michael,” Pike says, glancing down at the PADD. “I see no academic reason why we cannot accept you.”

The captain’s wording keeps Spock from allowing his own triumph flood his system. “Are there any reasons outside of academia that might keep me from acceptance?” he asks warily.  

Pike laughs. “Besides your Vulcan heritage?” he asks, his voice light with humor. “In all seriousness,” Pike sobers, “your physical is above the acceptable range. Your aptitude tests are outstanding, and your resolve seems unwavering. There’s no reason I should reject your application.”

Spock bites his lip. “But?”

“But,” Pike repeats, inclining his head, “there are risks. I can make your file private except to your attending physician and myself, but that won’t keep any of the admiralty from poking their noses in our business if they get suspicious.”

Spock nods and feels his heart begin to sink.

“However Starfleet is all about taking risks,” Pike continues, the mischievous glimmer returning to his eyes. “And if my favorite prodigy has taught me anything, it’s that there are some risks worth taking.”

Spock feels elation flood through him as he studies Pike. Carefully, he says, “May I ask why you wished for a Vulcan to join Starfleet?”

Captain Pike seems taken aback by Spock’s query. “You heard about that?” he asks rubbing the back of his neck. Spock nods. “Well, besides the fact that I would like to see more diversity in Starfleet, I believe Vulcans would make exemplary officers. Their inclusion can only improve the fleet.” He cracks a crooked grin. “Besides what kind of unified front are we showing when one of our most prominent members won’t allow its citizens to join the Federation’s ‘fleet?”

Spock considers this. “And you are not bothered that your only Vulcan applicant is half human?” He isn’t sure why he asks this, but he feels the need to know that at least one superior here does not see his mother as a flaw.

Pike blinks at this. “Why should that bother me?” he asks. “If anything, it just give you an advantage. More cards to play if something goes south.”

Spock nods. “Very well. When can I begin?”

Beaming, Pike shuffles around the PADDs on his desk. “Immediately,” he replies. “The new semester starts soon, but we can get you tested into classes this week.” Pike pauses to regard him. “Michael,” he says seriously, “to keep too many higher ups from discovering this, I’m going to have to be your academic advisor.”

Spock narrows his eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”

Pike swallows. “I oversee Command Track students. Your application indicates that you wish to study the Science track,” Pike says. “You might already see where I’m going with this, but I can only be your primary advisor if you take Command.”

Taking a deep breath, Spock says, “And if I doubled Command with Science? Could you be my advisor then?”

The captain blinks. “Well,” he begins slowly, “I haven’t heard of very many students doubling tracks, but I . . . yes I suppose your Vulcan biology would allow it.”

Spock nods. “Then that is what I will do.”

“Okay then,” Pike says, nodding to himself. “I will send your room assignment and the schedule for your tests to your personal comm by the end of the day.” He stands, holding a hand out to Spock. “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to Starfleet, Cadet Grayson.”

Standing, Spock only hesitates for a moment before shaking Pike’s hand. “The pleasure is mine, Captain.”

Stepping into the hallway, Spock looks around to find Nyota standing next to a blond man Spock does not recognize. “Sandra, I’m telling you,” the blond man says to Nyota, “Orion is the most pleasing language to listen to.”

Nyota shakes her head, a playful smile gracing her lips. “And I disagree,” she replies. Looking up, she spots Spock coming close. “There you are!” she exclaims, beaming at Spock. “How did it go?”

Spock spares the blond man a curious glance before turning to Nyota. “The Captain will send me my room assignment and test dates by tonight,” he tells her, sharing her excitement in a more modest manner.

Nyota squeals. “That’s wonderful!”

From the corner of his eyes, Spock notices the blond man study them carefully before entering Pike’s office. With his Vulcan hearing, Spock can faintly hear Pike’s annoyed “Dammit, Kirk!” Spock returns his focus to Nyota. “Why did that man call you ‘Sandra,’ Nyota?”

“Oh, that’s just a small joke between us,” she replies. She tugs at his arm gently. “Come on, we should go tell Len you were accepted.”

Feeling Nyota’s elation bleed into him through her touch, Spock allows a small smile to sneak onto his face as she leads him out of the building.

Around noon, Spock finds himself exiting the small student-run restaurant near the Academy green. Nyota strolls next to him, nursing a latte. The air is heavy with moisture, something Spock is familiar with only through the memories he has of visiting Earth with his parents. Clouds roll over them; not to promise rain, but to provide shade from Earth’s mild yellow sun. A breeze caresses the pair, whispering stories of the bay San Francisco is famed for.

Other cadets mill about on the green, enjoying the day. Spock takes this opportunity to observe the humans around him. As a child, he remembered humans as loud and intrusive. But as he watches a pair of cadets simply lay on their backs and watch the clouds pass in silence, Spock begins to realize how many types of humans there are to encounter.

Nyota draws Spock’s attention away from the cadets with a tug on his sleeve. She points toward a man dressed in a grey officer’s uniform amble toward them. “That’s a friend of mine,” Nyota tells him quietly. “Would you like to meet him?” Spock nods, eyeing the man warily.

Waving her hands in the air, Nyota calls, “Scotty!”

The man looks up from his PADD and smiles. He comes up to the pair and draws Nyota into a one handed hug. “Nyota,” he greets her, “how ‘ave ya been, lass?”

“I’ve been well,” Nyota replies. She gestures to Spock. “This is a friend of mine, Michael Grayson. He just transferred to the Academy”

The man shakes Spock’s hand as he introduces himself, his glee and a hint of frustration brushing against Spock’s shields. “Names Montgomery Scott, but all me friends call me Scotty.”

Spock smiles politely. “It’s a pleasure, Scotty.”

Nyota gestures to the PADD Scotty carried. “Still working on the equation?”

Crestfallen, Scotty replies with a sullen, “Aye. I jus’ cannae make sense of it.”

Interest piqued, Spock leans forward to glance at the PADD. “What equation are you working on?” he asks.

“Oh, i’s just a theory for transwarp beaming,” Scotty replies. “Jimmy pointed out that I ‘aven’t considered space as a variable, but I’m ‘aving trouble making sense of it.”

Spock furrows his brow. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the PADD. Scotty hands it to him enthusiastically, and Spock studies the equation. After a few moments he makes out what Scotty’s theory is conveying. He considers “Jimmy’s” advice and begins to speculate. Raising an eyebrow, he hands the PADD back to Scotty. “Could space be moving?” Spock asks.

Scotty’s eyes widen as he scrambles at the PADD. “Aye,” Scotty breathes, whipping out a stylus and scribbling frantically on the screen. “Why that’s it!” he exclaims. Scotty looks up from his PADD and beams at Spock. Just as he begins to smile back, Spock is knocked back a step as Scotty throws himself at him. “Thank ya, laddy!” Scotty says, tightening his grip on Spock.

A little overwhelmed by Scotty’s excitement leaking through their contact, Spock hesitantly pats Scotty’s back. “You’re welcome, Mr. Scott,” he says, throwing Nyota a feeble glance. She only grins apologetically at him.

Eventually, Scotty lets go. He straightens Spock’s shirt and beams at them. “I ‘ave to go,” he announces. “I’ve got ta test this ‘fore Archer banishes me for another failure.” He bids them one final goodbye before making a break for one of the Academy buildings.

Nyota chuckles softly as she comes to stand beside Spock. “Sorry about him,” she says. “Scotty’s always been more expressive than most.”

Spock pulls on the hem of his tunic, pursing his lips. “It is of no matter,” he says. “I need to get used to such occurrences.” His comm rings at that moment. He pulls it out and sees a message from Pike.

“Is it Pike?” Nyota asks, leaning in to see the screen.

Spock nods. “Indeed. He has just provided my room assignment,” he informs her. They exchange a look of resolve, departing the Academy green to get Spock settled into his room.

Spock’s dorm room is tucked away on the fourth floor. Silently praising Pike’s forethought, Spock surveys the hallway. His room is near the corner of the building, tucked between the emergency staircase and a maintenance closet. Spock shoulders his duffle bag and adjusts his grip on his comm unit so he can key in the code Pike provided him with. Behind him, Nyota taps her fingers on the handle of his suitcase. As the lock greets Spock with a cheerful chime, Nyota says, “I wonder who you’ll be dorming with.”

As he steps into the room, Spock takes in the small kitchen and dining area just inside the doorway. To his right sits a couch and a small viewscreen. Further back, behind a knee wall, the beds and work space for Spock and his mystery roommate are hidden. Spock opens his mouth to answer Nyota’s question when a door to the left of the sleeping area opens to reveal a male human enter the space. Spock takes in his short blond hair, wet from a wash, and his dark blue eyes; he wonders if his mother would deem this male “cute.” Spock is almost inclined to.

The human starts when he sees Spock and Nyota. He fumbles to straighten his shirt as he passes around the knee wall to hold his hand out to Spock. “Vhen I was told by Keptain Pike I vould be getting a roommate,” the human says as Spock shakes his hand, “I vasn’t expecting him to show up so soon.”

Spock inclines his head as he releases the boy’s hand (for now that he is closer to Spock he realizes that he is barely older than fifteen). “My apologies,” Spock says, ignoring Nyota’s subtle cough behind him. “I should have attempted to inform you of my arrival in advance.” Spock clears his throat, his human instincts attempting to dislodge to awkwardness that has settled over the room. “My name is Michael Grayson and this is my friend Nyota Uhura,” he says, cringing inwardly at his blundering attempt at human interaction.

His roommate seems to cling to the familiar conversation structure and springs into action. “My name is Pavel Chekov,” he says, taking Spock’s bag from him after smiling at Nyota. “I have been at zhe Academy for a year now. I am under zhe Command Track with a sub-specialty of astrophysics.”

Spock nods, taking his suitcase from Nyota and placing it on the bed Chekov has signaled is his. “I am entering the Academy under both the Science and Command Tracks with a science specialty in computer science and astrophysics.”

“Vow,” Chekov breathes. “Zhat is amazing, Meester Grayson.”

“Please,” Spock says, inclining his head, “it is just S-Michael.” Spock fights down his blush with all his might, his Vulcan control saving him from revealing both his birth name and his heritage.

On the other side of the knee wall, Nyota claps her hands together with a grin. “Well,” she says cheerfully, “I’m going to go and let you guys get settled.” She leans over and places a hand on Spock’s arm. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Spock gifts her with a soft smile. “Of course. Thank you, Nyota.”

As Nyota leaves, Spock busies himself with unpacking his clothes and the meager belongings he and his mother managed to pack before his father returned home. Spock listens as Chekov patters around the front of the dorm, arranging and rearranging his things to make room for Spock.

Setting down his meditation mat, Spock says, “Please, Mr. Chekov, do not feel inclined to make a fuss of your things on my behalf. I have not come with much.”

Chekov glances at Spock warily before replying, “It is no trouble, Michael. And it’s Pavel; we live together now.”

Ignoring Pavel’s non sequitur, Spock returns to arranging his belonging around his workspace. A tense silence falls over the pair as they (Pavel) attempt to stay out of each other’s way.

Suddenly, Pavel claps his hands together. “Have you seen zhe Academy’s greenhouse et, Michael?”

Spock looks up from his meditation candles. “No, I have not had the plesure.”

“Oh you must see dem!” Pavel exclaims, pulling Spock out of the dorm. Spock follows behind as Pavel chatters about the beautiful plants the Academy keeps in the greenhouse just a few minutes from their dorm. Pavel leads him through the double doors of the glass building and into the heart of the foliage. “Hikaru!” Pavel begins calling.

“Over here!” comes the reply. Pavel throws a grin at Spock before pushing through more green than Spock can remember. They come upon a workbench where a small human male tends to a pot of flowers.

“Hikaru, I want you to meet someone.” Pavel nudges Spock forward as Hikaru turns around.

Spock sputters for a moment before thrusting his hand forward. “Michael Grayson,” he grits out.

Hikaru grins. “Hikaru Sulu. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Spock shifts uncomfortably and Pavel and Hikaru share a look. Spock gestures suddenly to the potted plant. “Are you a botanist?”

“Sort of,” Hikaru admits, beconning Spock and Pavel to join him at the table. “I’m really Command but I’ve got a sub-specialty in xeno-botany.” He pats the clay pot fonly. “This here is a Vulcan sov-masu svai. Or a--”

“Rain flower,” Spock finishes, forgetting himself in his excitement. He quickly corrects himself under Hikaru and Pavel’s perplexed looks. “I have a mild fascination with Vulcan horticulture.”

Hikaru shrugs and grins madly again. “Well I’m trying to determine what kind of environments this bad boy can survive in. I figured if it can survive the dry seasons on Vulcan before blooming after monsoons, it must a pretty durable plant.”

“Fascinating,” Spock murmurs, touching the flower’s petals gently.

“I’d love to explain more, but I’ve gotta go. Jim wants me to show him something in the sim,” he says to Spock. He pats Pavel on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Catch you guys at dinner?”

Pavel answers with an affirmative and--illogically--Spock finds himself pleased to be included in Hikaru’s invitation to dinner.

For the first time since the preparation for his bar mitzvah , Spock finds the days passing by in a flurry of activity and excitement. Spock had taken to accompanying Pavel to breakfast where they are met by Hikaru. Although the pair were far more boisterous than Spock was used to, he enjoyed listening to Pavel talk about astrophysical theories and to Hikaru’s lengthy soliloquies about the latest flora that graced the botany labs.

From there, Spock would either head to his placement tests or would take to wandering around the Academy campus. So far he had visited the science center and the library and found himself spending hours in both. He ate lunch with Nyota and, when his schedule allowed, Dr. McCoy. Both were pleasant company, however Spock was often perturbed by the doctor’s ability to participate in a conversation solely through the complaints he made about the various staff and cadets at the Academy. Spock also notices the frequent mention of a “Jim” that the doctor is acquainted with. For a 3.296 days, the doctor complains to them about “Jim’s” absence, and when it becomes apparent to Spock that “Jim” has returned, the doctor complains about how he preferred it with “Jim” gone. Spock wasn’t sure what to make of McCoy’s relationship with “Jim.”

The only member of McCoy’s staff that he did not complain about was Christine Chapel, a nurse who worked his shifts with him. Spock had the pleasure of meeting her during his physical the day after he moved into his dorm. He greatly appreciated her expertise and told her such during his exam. McCoy proceeded to grumble about “idiots who thought they could saunter into his exam rooms and woo his nurses.” Spock isn’t sure how to react.

Today, Spock is scheduled to take a placement exam in self-defense for his Command Track. He bids the doctor and Nyota goodbye after he finishes his meal and makes his way to the Academy’s gymnasium. He passes many cadets dressed in athletic wear, watching as they run or lift weights or spar. He admires the form of an Andorian as he gracefully disables his opponent.

He approaches the mat where a couple of cadets are stretching. As he considers asking one of them if this is where the exam will take place, a human male comes up to him. Spock turns and is almost shocked by how handsome this human is. His blond hair is pushed away from his face, but still manages to fall over his forehead. Spock is struck by how sharp the blue in the man’s eyes are--he likens them to the lillies his mother once attempted to grow on Vulcan many years ago.

Spock shakes himself from his stupor when the man begins to speak. “Are you here for the exam today?” he asks. Spock nods, unable to speak in this man’s soul binding presence. The human gives Spock a dazzling smile that strikes Spock as fitting for a comparison to the sun. “Great! There are some spare workout clothes in the locker room, so just go ahead and get changed and we’ll start when you get back.”

“Thank you,” Spock manages to say before the man turned away. Spock watches for a moment as the man begins to converse with some of the cadets, allowing himself only a moment to admire the man’s smile once more. He admonishes himself and quickly goes to change.

When he returns, the man claps his hands together and gathers the cadets around. “Good afternoon,” he says, meeting each of their eyes. “My name is Cadet Kirk. I am Professor Maridan’s teaching assistant and I will be proctoring your exam today.” Cadet Kirk surveys them again, and Spock feels his skin prickle when those striking blue eyes fall on him.

Kirk paces before them leisurely, his hands clasped behind his back. “For your exam, you will be sparing with one of the other examinees,” he says. “There are no rules for how you are to subdue your opponent, however you will face a demerit if I believe the fight becomes too rough. Understood?”

“Yessir,” the cadets chant.

Kirk nods and turns to his PADD. “Alright, our first pair is Cadet Peters and Cadet Laughton.” The cadets step forward and Spock watches as Kirk signals for their match to begin. The pair are evenly match and for 2.385 minutes Spock begins to conclude that the match will end in a draw. Then, Cadet Peters lunges for Cadet Laughton’s legs and they tumble to the ground. In a few moments, Cadet Peters emerges triumphant, a smile gracing her face as she helps Laughton up from the mat.

“Very impressive,” Kirk says, clapping Peters on the back. “Alright, next is Cadet Daniels and Cadet Grayson.”

Spock steps forward onto the mat and bows politely at his opponent. He drops into a defensive stance and focuses all of his attention of Cadet Daniels. Kirk motions for them to begin and Daniels leaps into action. Spock dodges and parries their attacks, keeping back as he evaluates their fighting technique. 1.453 minutes go by as such before Spock recognizes a pattern in Daniels’ attack. Zeroing in on the opening Daniels creates when they delivers a left hook, Spock shifts his center of gravity and moves forward on the offensive. With three quick movements, Spock knocks Daniels over and subdues them under his weight. Spock allows himself a few puffs from exertion before standing.

Cadet Daniels pushes themself up and rotates their shoulder. They nod at Spock. “That was a good move,” they say.

Spock nods back at them. “Your stance was impressive, as well.” Daniels smiles a bit and moves to leave the mat. Spock turns and finds Kirk staring at him, his expression foreign.

The rest of the matches go by smoothly and Cadet Kirk dismisses them, announcing that their results will be sent to them by 1400 hours the next day. As Spock passes Cadet Kirk on his way out of the gymnasium, Kirk stops him with a pat on the shoulder. Spock turns, a eyebrow raised in a silent question. Kirk seems to squirm under Spock’s gaze, truly something different from the confident teacher’s assistant who proctored the exam. Kirk rubs the back of his neck as he avoids Spock’s eyes. “I--uh,” Kirk begins, glancing quickly at Spock. “You, uh, fight . . . good.”

Spock considers the strange compliment and its delivery for a moment before saying, “Thank you.” When Kirk nods curtly, Spock, unsure exactly what he should do, bids Cadet Kirk good night and does not flee the gym but briskly walks back to his dorm.

He should write to his mother.

Chapter Text

Dearest Mother,

I apologize for not having written you sooner. I have been preoccupied with my placement exams, but I am settling into my new life at the Academy. I trust all is well at home and that Sarek is treating you fairly.

I am well. I know you worry for me, but I have made . . . friends, and they are more than suitable company for me. You have no cause to worry, Mother.

I find myself eager to inform you of my assumed identity here. Two of my new friends, Nyota Uhura and Dr. Leonard McCoy, have assisted me in altering my appearance so that I may appear more human. [Michael.jpg] It may seem illogical, but I hope you are pleased with how I now appear.

In addition to a new appearance, I have also undertaken a new name. I admit that my decision was clouded by sentimentality, but I can find no regret in my heart. Again, I can only hope that you are pleased with my decision. I have decided to take the name of my dear sister--Michael Grayson.

My studies are going well. I have taken the placement exams and have been deemed fit to skip the first year of the Academy. My academic advisor, Captain Pike, worries that such a leap will bring too much attention to my person, however I cannot find it in myself to worry. My roommate, Pavel Chekov, is a true genius at only fifteen years of age. I trust I will be able to blend in well among such a talented group.

This is all the pertinent information I have to share with you for now, Mother.

Live long and prosper.

Love,

Your Son

P.S. Is it a traditional aspect of human courtship to be complimented on one’s fighting ability?

Spock receives his class schedule the evening before the new semester at the Academy is scheduled to begin. Pavel excitedly snatches the PADD from Spock and begins to compare their classes, a smile growing on his face. “Ve have Varp Physics II, Xeno-Cultural Studies, and Ethics together dis semester, Michael,” Pavel exclaims, returning the PADD to Spock. “Dis is excellent news. Jim also has those classes with me. You will finally get to meet him!”

Studying his schedule again, Spock nods absentmindedly. “Yes, I am looking forward to finally meeting this ‘Jim’ you and Hikaru speak so highly of,” he says, sending a copy of his classes to Nyota.

Pavel claps his hands together as he leans back in his bed. “Oh, I trust you vill like him, Michael,” he says, his grin widening. “He is wery strange like you.”

Spock glances at Pavel before reading Nyota’s reply ( We have Xenolinguistics and Second Year Xenobiology together ). “Was that an attempt of a joke, Pavel?” Spock asks, raising an eyebrow.

Pavel smiles bashfully. “Just little joke, Michael.”

Spock lets humor crinkle his eyes and a smile whisper over his lips. “Extremely little, Pavel,” he quips.

Pavel giggles as he stands. “Vell,” he says, “Hikaru is probably vaiting for us at the cafeteria.”

“He most likely is,” Spock agrees, standing up himself. Spock follows Hikaru out of the dorm and to the cafeteria. More Cadets have arrived on campus in the past week, and Spock finds himself struggling to both keep pace with Pavel and avoid excessive skin contact with the cadets bustling around them.

They finally arrive at the cafeteria. Spock follows Pavel to the replicators. He orders a garden salad and peers over Pavel’s head to survey the room. Cadets chatter around them and not for the first time Spock is struck with . . . not so much homesickness but a sense of displacement. He watches with close to scientific detachment as humans smile, laugh, and gesture to their companions.

He wonders, as he often allowed himself to as a child, what Vulcan would be like if Surak had taught emotion in moderation rather than complete suppression.

As Spock continues to survey the room, he meets Nyota’s steady gaze. She sits with Hikaru and Dr. McCoy at a table near the corner of the room. Fondness floods Spock’s gaze as he realizes that Nyota (and perhaps the doctor) chose the table with Spock in mind.

Spock and Pavel quickly make their way through the web of tables. Spock smiles quietly at Nyota as he sets his plate down next to hers. Pavel heads around the table to sit on Dr. McCoy’s left, across from Hikaru. As Spock takes his seat, he realizes that they have stumbled into another of Dr. McCoy’s tirades.

“They know my schedule at the hospital!” he exclaims, waving his fork around, almost hitting Pavel in the head. The doctor pauses only for a moment to shoot Pavel an apologetic smile before returning to his scowl. “And I know they know,” he continues, “because they’re the damn fools that set up my schedule at the hospital in the first place!”

Spock leans toward Nyota indescretly. “What is it that has the doctor in such a fit?” he asks.

Nyota leans in. “Apparently his schedule for the semester has him in class and then at the hospital with almost no time in between,” she says. “It was this way last semester, too. He’s just exaggerating.”

Dr. McCoy points a finger at Nyota, his eyes narrowing. “I am not exaggerating, Miss Uhura!” he spat. “My schedule may seem manageable to you, but you forget I have a toddler to take care of.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I did not know you were a father, Doctor.”

McCoy fumbles over his words. “Well, I’m not--I mean I am a dad but I’m not--I’m not referring to my daughter in this case,” he says, a blush creeping up his neck.

Spock cocks his head. “Then to whom are you referring?”

Before the doctor can reply, a loud voice comes from across the hall: “Bones!”

Spock watches curiously as Hikaru, Pavel, and Nyota exchange an amused smile while Doctor crumples forward, his head in his hands. Without lifting his head, McCoy gestures in the direction of the voice. “ That is who I am referring to, Sp--Michael,” he says.

Following the doctor’s arm, Spock’s eyes widen as his eyes find a man walking toward their table. It takes Spock a moment to recognize him with a large, graceful smile spread upon his face and his hair rumpled from wandering fingers, but Spock realizes that this is the same man who proctored his self-defence exam.

Cadet Kirk reaches their table and slaps Dr. McCoy enthusiastically on the back. “Bones, I haven’t seen you all day, buddy!” he exclaims, setting his hamburger across from Spock.

McCoy lifts his head and rolls his eyes before looking up at Kirk. “Yes, and what a lovely day it’s been, Jimbo.”

Kirk sits down and wraps an arm around McCoy’s shoulders, jostling him gently. “Ah, you don’t mean that, Bonesy,” he says, grinning wickedly. “You looove me.”

A smile flashes across McCoy’s face before he schools his expression into a scowl. “God knows why I do,” he grumbles.

Spock watches, intrigued at how Kirk beams at each of his tablemates. He is entertaining the thought of discovering if this man’s brilliancy would reflect in his thoughts when Spock realizes that Kirk is grinning at him. His heart nearly stops.

“I know you,” Kirk says, wagging his finger at Spock. He feels Nyota tense beside him. “You were at the self-defense exam a few days ago.”

Spock nods as he feels Nyota exhale discreetly. “Indeed, I was there,” he answers, taking a bite of his salad.

Kirk extends his hand to him. “I’m Jim Kirk,” he says. “I feel like we’re going to be friends.”

Spock shakes Jim’s hand, bubbling excitement bursting against his shields. He struggles not to shiver. “Michael Grayson,” he says, introducing himself. “It is a pleasure to meet the infamous Jim.” Spock allows his mouth to quirk up.

Jim grins around his burger. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice thick around his food. Spock shoves down the urge to grimace.

McCoy elbows Jim in the ribs. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s disgusting,” he admonishes.

In retaliation, Jim takes a large bite of his burger and makes a show of not only chewing loudly in the doctor’s ear but says around his food, “Alright, Mom .”

Pavel and Hikaru laugh at Jim’s antics and the doctor’s gagging. Next to him, Spock watches as Nyota rolls her eyes. “You’re making a great first impression here, Jim,” she says fondly.

Jim smirks lazily. “I try my best to dazzle them all, Alex,” he says.

Spock tilts his head. “Last time you called her Sandra. Now Alex,” he ponders. “I assume there is joke here?”

Nyota smiles and Jim laughs and shakes his head. Jim says, smiling softly at Spock. “When we first met, I tried to ask her out. She refused to even give me her name after she said no, so now it’s kinda a joke that I can’t seem to guess her real name.”

Spock frowns. “I see . . . I think.”

Nyota laughs goodnaturedly and Spock catches Jim send him a seemingly fond look. From down the table, Pavel leans forward and says, “I told you Jim vas strange.”

“Hey!” Jim exclaims, a pout pinching his face. He reaches behind McCoy and shoves Pavel gently. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to go around telling people!”

The table bursts with a laughter that only increases as Hikaru throws some of his fries at Jim who struggles to catch them with his mouth. Even Dr. McCoy lets a content smile peek through his rough exterior.

And even though Spock is not exactly sure how he fits into their little group, he allows a smile to spread across his lips; a laugh even slips out. Nyota gives him a fond look and McCoy seems relieved when he hears it.

Spock pretends not to notice Jim’s expression fumble before settling into what Amanda might call an infatuated smile.

In the next 3.9 weeks, Spock settles into his life at the Academy. He finds himself pleasantly surprised by how much he truly enjoys his classes and the time he spends with his companions. Pavel accompanies him to the science labs in his free time and there they attempt to prove some of their more outlandish theories. Hikaru regularly invites him to the Academy’s arboretum; Spock appreciates that Hikaru only questioned his preference for desert plants once.

Perhaps the easiest of Spock’s companions to spend time with is Nyota. She often joins him in the library or his room and studies quietly with him. Sometimes they enter lengthy conversations about xenolinguistics, but for the most part Nyota seems content to spend the time in companionable silence. Spock appreciates this greatly.

In contrast, Spock finds it hard to spend time with Dr. McCoy. He has found that the doctor often forgets that Spock’s heritage needs to be kept secret, and often makes slips when referring to Spock in some sort of derogatory tone. Overall, Spock is not very bothered by these Freudian slips, but the doctor seldom spends time with Spock alone--more often than not they are joined by James Kirk.

James T. Kirk. Spock has realized that Jim has connections throughout the campus. He sees the cadet galavanting around with Cadet Mitchell and an Orion cadet he believes is named Gaila. On more than one occasion, Jim has interrupted Spock’s appointments with Captain Pike; he often kicks open the door with a loud greeting and an anxious secretary at his heels. Spock wonders if Jim knows who Pike is meeting with and if that has any effect on his decision to barge in. Jim has even taken to going on strolls with Spock in the arboretum after their shared Ethics class.

Spock finds himself unsure of what to think about James Kirk. Spock finds him loud and abrasive; Jim constantly enters spaces where Spock has established some shadow of the peace he had on Vulcan. But at the same time, Jim is kind and is sympathetic to his peers. Spock is puzzled by this: how can someone be both exasperating and soothing at once?

Spock wants to revert to old habits and call it “the illogic of humans,” but he considers Jim’s actions in comparison to his other companions and tentatively concludes that Jim’s paradoxical behavior is just simply what Jim is like. And despite the perplexities that surround Jim and his motives, Spock finds himself enjoying his time with Jim. In fact, his enjoyment rivals the amount he feels when he is with Nyota.

It is partly through September when Spock, in spite of his already extensive observations of Jim, learns something new about his unlikely companion.

Spock follows Jim through the Academy green, listening intently as Jim recounts a story from his childhood. “So to speed up the process of unraveling the baseball,” Jim says, “my brother and I decide to set it on fire.”

“Of course,” Spock supplies, an amused smile flickering on his lips.

Jim grins. “But even with the fire, it was taking too long to get to the center,” he says, his grin taking a wicked gleam. “So Sam and I decided to play hockey with it.”

“As it was on fire?” Spock asks, his eyebrow flying up.

“Yep,” Jim nods furiously. He laughs at Spock’s incredulous expression. “Our mom was pissed when she found us. She went on and on about how we could have burned down the barn.”

“As she should have,” Spock says. “I admire your mother for staying sane all these years.”

Jim shrugs, looking away awkwardly. “She almost didn’t,” he admits. “Between losing dad and raising us on her own . . . life has been really tough on her.” He gives Spock a crooked smile. “Not that I’ve done anything to help with that.”

Spock nods thoughtfully. “My mother has had a hard life as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Jim says, turning to face Spock. “Mind sharing?”

Spock considers what he would say in response when an older cadet comes up behind Jim and wraps his arm around Jim’s shoulders. “Jimmy boy!” the cadet exclaims, his lips cut in a jagged smile. “How ya been, ol’ boy?”
Jim tenses under the cadet’s arm. “I was good before you showed up, Finnegan,” Jim grits out.

The cadet--Finnegan--looks Spock up and down. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jimmy. Was I interrupting a tender moment here?”

Shrugging off Finnegan’s arm, Jim takes half a step toward Spock. “It doesn’t matter, Finnegan. Can you just go?” Jim asks.

“But I just got here,” Finnegan purrs, moving closer to Jim. “And we all know the fun only starts when I show up, Jimmy.”

Jim tenses again as Finnegan reaches out to touch him and Spock’s instincts take over. He grabs the cadet’s hand and pushes him away from Jim. “I believe he asked you to leave,” Spock almost growls, his anger doubling at the malicious amusement he feels from Finnegan’s skin.

Finnegan raises his eyebrow, yanking his hand out of Spock’s grasp. “Well, well, well,” he tuts. “What have we here, Jimmy boy?”

“Leave him alone,” Jim grits through his clenched teeth.

“And why should I do that?” Finnegan purrs, reaching out to grab Spock.

Blinded by rage and memories of harassment from his past, Spock lunges forward, his fist connecting with Finnegan’s nose with a sickening crunch. Finnegan barrels backwards, his hands clinging to his nose as if he can stop the bleeding with his hands. “What the hell!” he exclaims, watching Spock with franic caution.

Jim puts his arm in front of Spock when he shifts forward. “You’ve done enough, Michael,” Jim whispers in his ear.

Blood still pounding in his ears, Spock looks at Jim and takes a calming breath. “Very well,” he mutters, letting his shoulders relax a miniscule amount.

Finnegan stumbles away from them as a cadet runs up to him and offers a medkit. Jim grabs Spock’s elbow gently and begins to pull him away from the scene. “Come on,” he says, “we should leave before we get caught with a demerit.”

Spock takes a shaky breath and lets Jim lead him away. “As you wish, Jim,” he whispers. Jim takes Spock into the adjacent building and they collapse before a window that overlooks the Academy green. Spock watches as Finnegan is escorted away by a pair of nurses, still clinging his nose in agony.

“Jesus, what happened?” Jin suddenly cries, reaching for Spock’s hand.

On instinct, Spock snatches his hand away, clutching it protectively to his chest. He stares at Jim with wide eyes as he watches the human digest the discovery of Spock’s green blood splattered over his broken knuckles. Jim swallows and meets Spock’s nervous gaze from under his eyelashes. “You aren’t human?” he asks in a small voice.

Spock opens his mouth to reply, but he finds that the words are stuck, tattered and torn between his teeth. “My mother is human,” he finally manages to choke out, his eyes falling to where his hands have landed in his lap.

He watches, frozen by hope and despair, as Jim slowly reaches out and takes Spock’s split knuckles into his hands. Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, Jim begins to clean the emerald blood from Spock’s knuckles. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” Jim says softly. “We all have something to hide.”

“Fascinating,” he whispers as Jim’s calm curiosity caresses his shields. When Jim looks up at him, Spock’s eyes shoot out the window. He swallows thickly, feeling Jim’s sincerity through their shared contact. “I am Vulcan,” Spock finally breathes, still avoiding Jim’s open gaze. “I . . . I did not appreciate the treatment both my mother and I were exhibited by some pure-blooded Vulcans.” His eyes drop to where Jim still held his hand, grounding himself in the warm fire of Jim’s righteous fury. “I found I could no longer continue in such an environment and left. Starfleet was the most logical choice.”

Jim’s hands tighten around Spock’s, summoning a faint blush to his cheeks before Spock can shove the sensation down. “So you were raised on Vulcan?” he asks quietly, his fingers tracing smooth circles on Spock’s hand.

“Indeed,” Spock replies, turning his hand around so he can still Jim’s ministrations.

“So I take it your name isn’t Michael,” Jim states, his voice hinting at a question.

Spock lets his head shake minisculely. “My birth name is Spock.”

“Spock.”

Jim says his name slowly, letting the syllable roll over his tongue sensually. Spock feels his elation and admiration through his hands with a hint of some fleeting emotion Spock struggles to name. The mix of Jim’s emotions and the simple tenderness with which he says Spock’s name makes him shiver.

Spock finally meets Jim’s eyes and sucks on his teeth as he takes in the shining smile Jim gifts him with, and he thanks Surak he is already seated because he feels his knees go weak. He grips Jim’s hand tightly and finds himself leaning forward an inch before allowing himself to stretch his lips into a smile that hardly counts for one when compared to Jim’s.

And through their connection, Spock learns Jim is truly something golden.

Chapter Text

Spock knows he should be concerned by the amount of cadets who are aware of his true nature, however he finds himself unworried by Jim’s revelation. He trusts Jim and Nyota and--despite, perhaps, his better judgement--the doctor. For what may have been the first time, Spock feels bubbling contentment and sizzlingly joy burning in his heart when his thoughts turn to his strange companions.

He spends days watching Pavel and Hikaru as they study together and feels his soul at peace--content to feel their laughter rub up against him like a Terran cat. He enters the lab with Scotty and despite the chaos that occurs (especially when Jim joins them), he does not find any worry splattering against the inside of his shields. He plays his lyre and sings with Nyota and basks in her quiet glory and majesty. He argues and bickers with McCoy over issues he knows need not be discussed in such length, and simply lets himself be .

Most of all, he revels in the way his heart flips and his hands take on a miniscule shake when they brush against Jim’s, his mind bidding forward memories of their conversation above the Academy green and Jim’s steadfast acceptance.

His mother would tell him that what he is beginning to feel for Jim ought to be explored and allowed the thrive. And while Spock agrees that there is something there between them and that he should give this emotion a name, Spock finds himself chained by his fear. He worries that he if he allows himself to name this budding feeling shrouded with golden light, then he will fall too far into his emotions and ruin everything he and Jim had. No, he decided, better not to make any revelations before finding out it Jim felt anything for him other than the steadfast friendship they were quickly stumbling into.

September comes and goes and Spock steps out one day in mid-October to realize that he had forgotten in his summer fever how cold Earth was during its winter months. He spends the day watching his companions laugh and revel in the brisk weather they find comfortable in a light sweater alone and wonders if he can somehow find an excuse to wear his thermal wear so early in the season.

He eventually decides that he cannot.

So Spock spends the month in his favorite woolen sweater that was knitted by his mother, hoping that the coarse fabric and what little human metabolism he has been gifted with will keep him going until winter blows through at full force and he can get away with more than two layers.  He ignores the worried looks Nyota gives him when a shiver slips through his barriers and the grumbles the doctor lets out when Spock ignores his mumblings about alien metabolisms.

But eventually, their worries become unignorable.

One afternoon in late October, Spock finds himself walking across the Academy green with Doctor McCoy and Jim. His companions banter casually as Spock listens, his arms wrapped around his torso in an attempt to conserve heat.

“Bones!” Jim exclaims, slapping McCoy’s arm in his moment of revelation. “We should totally go trick-or-treating this year! We could all go as group with a theme like Scooby Doo or something.”

“Trick-or-treating?” McCoy questions. “How old are you, Jim? You sound like Joanna.”

Jim gasps, slapping a hand against his heart in mock pain. Spock lets a small smile quirk his lips up through the congestion he feels beginning to build behind his sinuses. “How dare you?” Jim asks, seemingly horrified. “How dare you compare me to Joanna as if it were an insult? I would be honored to be like her. ”

McCoy shakes his head, a smile smile peaking out like it always does at the mention of his daughter. “Trust me, you could learn a thing or two from Jojo, Jim,” he replies. McCoy turns to Spock. “Tell him how silly trick-or-treating sounds, Michael.”

Spock blinks, considering the questions as Jim whips around to study Spock. “I--” Spock stops, his voice hoarse. After clearing his throat, he says, “I admit I do not have enough experience to say.” He rubs at the ache in his throat, his voice still scratchy.

“Say, are you getting sick?” McCoy asks, stepping around Jim to place his hand on Spock’s forehead.

Spock shakes his head. “No, doctor,” he says through the sandpaper in his throat and hte concern on his forehead, “I do not get sick.”

“Bullshit,” McCoy mutters, digging through his bag for the emergency medkit he carries around for Jim. “You’ve got a mild fever,” he says mostly to himself. He pulls out his tricorder and begins to take readings while simultaneously feeling Spock’s throat, pressing his fingers under Spock’s jaw. Through the contact Spock can feel the doctor’s concern and annoyance. McCoy picks at the thin fabric of his sweater. “Why aren’t you wearing more layers? Aren’t you cold?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“It is manageable,” Spock croaks out, avoiding the doctor’s heavy gaze. Instead, he sees the worried look Jim gives him and fights down the blush of shame that rears its traitorous head.

McCoy huffs, pulling Spock’s mouth open with a tongue compressor. “In a pig’s eye,” he mutters. “You know your metabolism isn’t meant for prolonged exposure to lower temperatures.” The doctor releases Spock’s mouth and moves his hands to Spock’s side, feeling for his pulse in his arm. Spock smacks his lips together in an attempt to rid his mouth of the taste of wood. He catches Jim stifle a laugh at Spock’s actions and feels the warmth of affection surge through him.

Dr. McCoy retracts his hands from Spock’s person and looks him up and down. Spock responds with a disinterested stare. “I think you have a cold,” McCoy says bluntly, packing away his medkit. “It’s been going around recently, so I’m not too surprised.” He pulls out a PADD. “I want you to go back to your dorm and warm up. I’ll stop by with some medicine in about an hour.” McCoy looks up and catches the beginnings of Spock’s refusal and turns to Jim. “I need you to take care of him, Jim,” he says. “Can you do that?”

Jim surveys Spock for a moment before returning his attention to McCoy. “Sure thing, Bones,” he says.

“Doctor, this is entirely unnecessary,” Spock interjects as Jim steps toward him, but the doctor has already waved a hand at them and begun walking towards Starfleet Medical.

“Come on, Spock,” Jim whispers, taking his arm. “It’s getting a little nippy anyway.”

Taking in Jim’s sincere gaze, Spock finally admits defeat and allows Jim to escort him back to his dorm. Thankfully, Pavel is currently working in the labs for the preliminary research for his thesis project, so Spock predicts he will have the room to himself for most--if not all--of the evening.

When they enter the room, Spock shrugs off his bag and keys up the temperature a few degrees before setting onto the couch. Breathing in deeply, Spock realizes his nose has begun running and swings his head around to find a tissue. To his right, Jim holds out a tissue box, his smile gentle. “Thank you,” Spock says softly, taking the box from Jim.

Jim nods and wanders into the kitchen, throwing open the cabinets as he scours Spock and Pavel’s kitchen for something. “What are you searching for, Jim?” Spock asks.

“Where do you keep your tea?” Jim asks instead.

Spock throws away his dirty tissue. “Above the sink,” he answers, his voice resonating through his nasal cavity. Jim opens the cabinet and lets out out an “ah” of understanding. Spock watches as Jim prepares the tea with a skilled hand. Jim leans against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. “Have you really never gotten sick before?” he asks, fiddling with a tea bag.

Spock nods, blinking through a wave of fatigue. “My mother often praised me on my good health as a child,” he says softly, his heart heavy at the thought of his mother’s absence. “However, she would often comfort me after I was hurt by my tormentors,” he adds after a lapse of silence.

Jim approaches him with a cup of tea, setting it down on the coffee table before Spock. He quickly retrieves a blanket from the dorm’s side closet and places it around Spock’s shoulders. As he sits down next to Spock, he asks, “Were you bullied on Vulcan?” Spock nods, taking a sip from the tea cup. “Isn’t that illogical or something?” Jim’s voice is hard with an anger Spock can feel rolling off his skin.

“It is,” Spock agree. “However, we were children. They used what little logic they were capable of to conclude that due to my dual heritage, I neither belonged on Vulcan nor on Earth.” Spock takes a breath to steady the pain that still stems from his memories. “With that in mind, they often insinuated that I had no place in the universe,” Spock says softly, remembering a specific instance vividly.

“That is such bullshit, ” Jim seethed, gritting his teeth.

His emotional control weakened by his illness and (at least his father would tell him) his time on Earth, Spock allows himself a moment of self pity. Wiping his nose with another tissue, Spock says through his watery eyes, “And where do you suppose I belong, Jim?”

Jim looks at him, anger slowing to give way to something akin to compassion in his eyes--eyes that Spock finds himself always surprised to see their shier vividness. Jim sets a hand gently on Spock’s knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not sure that’s for me to say,” Jim says softly, his voice pouring out his condolences and sorrow. Jim meets his gaze and Spock feels his heart leap in his side. “You have to decide that for yourself, Spock, or it won’t be mean anything.”

Spock swallows and nods his head mutely, ignoring the pressure that fluctuates behind his sinuses in favor of ingraining Jim’s gaze onto his katra .

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he hears the faintness of a voice from another universe--another lifetime:

“And where do you estimate we belong, Miss Keeler?”

“You? At his side, as if you’ve always been there and always will.”

He’d like to believe that were true.

November blows into the Academy with a biting chill. Spock acquires a thermal undershirt from the doctor the first day of the cold front and avoids going outside when he can. Spock hasn’t decided if Pavel is joking when he mentions that the chill reminds him of a cool summer day in Russia. (If he isn’t joking, then Spock has decided he will never go to Russia.)

Spock and Jim exit the library one evening after collaborating on an assignment for Warp Physics. As they open the doors, Spock shivers as a gust of bone-nipping wind rushes over them. Moistures accompanies the wind like the small, energetic dogs Spock has observed humans take everywhere with them. Spock stretches out a hand beyond the awning of the building and blinks as gentle rain drops kiss his palm. He watches intensely as the rain continues to dribble down from the sky and land as softly as sunlight on his skin.

Jim leans into him slightly, studying his face. “Have you never seen rain before?” he asks softly, judgement far from his words.

Spock shakes his head. “I have seen rain before, Jim,” he says gently. “I had simply forgotten how gentle it could be.” His voice grows soft as he takes his hand out of the rain with a shiver. “On Vulcan,” he whispers, “the rain falls only twice a year. It comes in heavy sheets that destroy the land.” He meets the sparkling blue of Jim’s eyes. “Rain like this helps me begin to understand your species’ obsession with it.”

Something unnameable flashes in Jim’s eyes as he stares deeply into Spock’s. Spock watches, enthralled, as Jim leans in slowly, his eyes flitting between Spock’s eyes and . . . somewhere lower. Jim’s lips part and Spock just barely feels Jim’s breath on his lips as his eyes lock onto the spot where Jim’s tongue peaks out to wet his lips.

Just as he is about to give in to the instincts roaring inside him, a voice calls out to them and Jim jumps back, the space between them cold and lifeless.

“Hey!” It is the doctor. McCoy stands at the bottom of the steps and stares up at them, holding out an extra umbrella. “I just got off shift; let’s go eat.”

Jim nudges Spock’s shoulder and bounds down the stairs to grab the umbrella. “Come on, Michael,” he calls behind him as he struggles to open the umbrella. Spock waits until Jim has finished his task before sprinting down the steps to join him. Jim grins as he pulls Spock close so the umbrella can cover them both, his damp shoulder pressed snugly against his own.

They follow McCoy as they stroll toward the mess hall. After retrieving their meals, Spock follows Jim and the doctor to a table near the walls of the room. Jim takes a large bite of his chicken sandwich and washes it down with a mouthful of water. “Bones,” he begins, his mouth still occupied by bits of his sandwich, “do you have Jojo this Thanksgiving?”

McCoy shoves a napkin into Jim’s hands and grumbles over his friend’s nonexistent manners. He pushes around the food on his plate before answering. “I kinda wanted to talk to you two about that,” he begins, his voice softer than Spock was used to. “Jojo’s been itching to meet you in person, Jimmy, and I figured Sp-” he pauses with a sigh, “ Michael wouldn’t have anyone to spend the break with if I took you with so . . .” He takes a deep breath. “Would you two like to come home with me for Thanksgiving?”

“Hell yeah!” Jim exclaims, slapping McCoy’s back overzealously.

McCoy gives Jim a small smile before turning his gaze to Spock, worrying his lip. Spock takes a sip of his tea before clearing his throat. “I am amenable to spending a culturally important occasion with you and your family, Dr. McCoy.”

This is how Spock finds himself at the steps of a large farmhouse situated in a corner of one of the small towns near Atlanta, Georgia. Spock surveys the surrounding land; the rolling hills are gridded with white fences and horses speckle the landscape. The air is quiet and Spock closes his eyes as he takes in the sounds and sensations of the Georgian landscape.

His reverie is interrupted by the clattering of footsteps that gallop through the farmhouse and toward the door. Spock hears a woman call for wariness as the footsteps seem to pass her. Then the door dramatically is flung open and a nest of brown hair flies at Dr. McCoy, nearly knocking the doctor over. Spock exchanges a glance with Jim as McCoy lifts the child up and spins her around in his arms, crying, “Joanna!”

The girl giggles and buries her head in McCoy’s neck as Spock watches an elderly woman glide through the front door. “Now, Joanna Lee McCoy, what have I told you about the proper way to greet our guests?” the woman asks, her hands finding their well-worn home on her hips, a towel thrown over her shoulder.

Joanna smiles sheepishly before sliding down McCoy’s chest to her feet. She giggles as Dr. McCoy ruffles her hair and says, “Sorry, Granny.”

The woman smiles and turns her gaze to Jim and Spock. “Well, come in, come in,” she says, herding them into the farmhouse. “I’m Leonard’s mother, Grace,” she says, pressing quick kisses to Jim’s cheeks. “You boys must call me Miss Grace.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Grace,” Jim says, squeezing her elbow as he passes.

Spock inclines his head as he enters the house. “It is an honor to meet you, Miss Grace,” he says, his hands itching to form the proper Vulcan greeting.

Miss Grace claps her hands together. “You must be Spock!” she exclaims with a smile. “Oh, this is so exciting. You don’t get to meet a Vulcan everyday, you know.”

Spock feels his face freeze as the little human expressions he has allowed thus far abandon his features. Settling back into his Vulcan persona on instinct, Spock levels an icy glare in McCoy’s direction. The doctor has the gall to appear sheepish, holding his hands palm up in a gesture of surrender. In his peripheral, Jim shifts on his feet, a wary gaze flitting between them.

Someone tugs on the hem of Spock’s shirt. Spock looks down, his gaze still cold and barren, and sees little Joanna McCoy staring up at him with childish abandon. “Are you really a Vulcan?” she asks, her words thick and warm with her round southern vowels. “Because you sure don’t look like one.”

Joanna’s grandmother and father hiss at her as Spock lowers himself into a crouch. Eyes level with the seven year old’s, Spock study’s her face and feels pleased to see only innocent curiosity.

“I am half-human,” Spock explains softly, his face softening as he realizes the harmlessness in Dr. McCoy’s actions. “I have changed my appearance to better fit in here on Earth,” he says, watching Joanna’s comprehension color her face.

“So you changed your ears and eyebrows?” Joanna asks, her fingers brushing against one of Spock’s ears, her inquisitiveness mirroring his own.

Spock nods. “That is correct.”

Joanna stares into his eyes as she lets her hand drop back to her side. She cocks her head to the side, an action that reminds Spock quite vividly of the children on Vulcan. “You have pretty eyes,” she says, a crooked smile parting her face.

Spock lets his lips quirk up as he says, “I find your eyes aesthetically pleasing as well, Miss Joanna.”

Joanna’s nose scrunches up as she giggles and turns to scamper up the stairs. Spock stands again and feels the tension bleed out of Dr. McCoy’s frame as he stumbles up to put their bags away. Miss Grace give him a tight lipped smile as she invites them to make themselves at home.

Jim regards him with a strange emotion alite in his eyes as they make their way upstairs.

Joanna runs into them in the hallway, a book clasped in her hands as she rambles about how much her grandmother has told her about space and Vulcan and how she’s “so proud of Daddy for being brave and going to space.” Jim encourages her, nodding and smiling as she points to various pages in her book and explains what she has learned from them. Every so often, Jim reacts with an actor’s surprise when Joanna shares with them an interesting fact she has learned. Spock watches with interest as Joanna’s face lights up at the idea of teaching Jim something.

He finds it quite illogically endearing.

McCoy catches him by the elbow before he can follow Jim and Joanna into the guest room. “Listen, Spock,” McCoy says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m real sorry about telling my ma without your permission.” His southern drawl has become heavier. “I wasn’ thinking about how you’d feel and I apologize.”

With a surge of confidence, Spock reaches out and touches the doctor’s shoulder. “I forgive you,” he says, his voice gentle. “I realize now that there is really no consequence in your family knowing the truth.” He looks into the room at Joanna as she pretends to be a starship for Jim. “They seem . . . trustworthy.”

Spock turns back in time to see a grin spread across McCoy’s face as he watches Joanna play. “Yeah . . .” he says, trailing off, his expression peaceful for the first time.

Spock finds himself needing to turn away from the unmistakable love that shines from the doctor’s face as he watches his daughter rough house with Jim. His heart tightened in his side; he feels a sense of belonging as he stands in the hallway of the old farmhouse. But simultaneously a sense of “otherness” passes over him as he observes the ease at which his companions just simply felt.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, the McCoy house fills to pass its maximum capacity with McCoys and extended family. Children run around underfoot as adults laugh and share tales of the past year’s trials. Jim and Spock hover close to Dr. McCoy as family rotate around the farmhouse with greetings and vague compliments.

The actual holiday passes almost without notice. There are little changes in the house’s bustling routine on the day of the festivities. Men and women fill the kitchen to the brim as they prepare more plates of food than Spock has ever seen. Children are sent outside to play in the fields as the adults prepare the food. The house is filled with joy, laughter, and smells. Spock had only smelled so many tempting scents years ago when his mother convinced his father to spend a week with her family in Vancouver; Spock had only been only a hair older than Joanna. Nostalgia and sorrow sweep through him as he thinks of his mother.

Thoughts of his mother aside, the Thanksgiving dinner is actually very enjoyable. Miss Grace had kept Spock in mind while preparing the food and made sure there were enough vegetarian options on the table for him to eat his fill. And after he had eaten his full, at least ten of the female McCoys lunge forward, shovelling more food onto his plate, insisting he was too thin and needed to eat more.

Jim snickers next to him until they turn their serving spoons on him and argue that Jim, too, could use a little more meat on his bones.

Spock watches the doctor’s family as they smile and care for one another and thinks that this is what Vulcan is missing. His father’s culture puts so much value on connections and the bonds in their tribes, but Vulcan seems to be missing out on community --on the freely given and freely seen love a family has for one another.

And even though Vulcan is not perfect, Spock finds himself missing it as the evening winds down and he has to push through at least twenty men and women to get to his bed that night.

As he finishes getting ready for bed that night, he receives a communication from Nyota. He sits on the edge of the bed and accepts the call. “Good evening, Nyota,” he says, a smile ghosting his lips.

Nyota smiles at him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Michael,” she says, subtling telling him that she is accompanied by some of their friends. “How are things in Georgia?”

“Good,” Spock says, unsure of how much is appropriate to share. “Dinner was enjoyable.” Spock looks up briefly as Jim enters the room. “Jim has just come in. Would you like to speak to him?”

“Yes!” Comes the reply from Hikaru, who has taken the comm from Nyota. Jim grins and sits at Spock’s side. Hikaru’s face is joined by Pavel’s as they grin. “Jim, you won’t believe what’s happened!” Spock hands Jim the comm as Hikaru and Pavel chatter about a Command qualification test that the Admiralty is considering introducing to the curriculum soon.

“From vhat ve hear,” Pavel says, his eyes shining with promise, “zhe test is supposed to be impossible to pass.”

Spock feels his blood chill.

Jim huffs. “Please,” he says, “no matter what they come up with, there’ll be a way to win.”

Hikaru shrugs. “We’re just letting you know what we’ve heard, Jim.”

Nyota shoves her way into the frame again. “So when are you three coming back our way?” she asks.

“What, miss me already?” Jim asks, a flirtatious smile spreading across his lips.

Nyota rolls her eyes. “Just answer the question, Kirk.”

Jim chuckles, his shoulder bumping into Spock’s. “Bones says we’re leaving tomorrow after lunch,” he says.

“So soon?” Nyota asks, her brow twisting with concern.

“I know,” Jim says softly. “He wants to stay longer too, but there’s a conference on Saturday he’s gotta to go to.”

Nyota nods, her eyes far away and a little sad. Spock considers his friend’s ability to infer so much of a situation from so little information. Fascinating , he thinks. Nyota’s gaze returns to the screen and a playful smile spreads across her lips. “Alright, put Michael back on; you’ve outlived your usefulness,” she says, her eyes bright with mirth.

Jim protests, voicing his emotional injuries extravagantly as he hands the comm back to Spock. Jim continues to complain about his mistreatment as he walks across the room to grab his sleepwear and leaves to get ready for bed in the bathroom. Spock allows a small smile to slip over his lips as he watches Jim leave. When he returns his attention to Nyota, he finds her smiling at him with a soft look in her eyes.

“How are you and Jim?” she asks, looking away for a moment to pick at her skirt.

Spock considers the query and makes his best guess at her meaning. “I am not sure of your meaning, Nyota. Jim and I are healthy and he appears to be content.”

Nyota lets out a breathy laugh. “I meant how are you two in regards to how you feel about him.”

Spock blinks. “How I feel about him?” he asks, his stomach churning for an indiscernible reason.

“I thought you had romantic feelings for him,” Nyota said, sitting up a bit. “Was I wrong?”

Spock pushes down a blush and the instinct to squirm in his seat. “You are not incorrect in your observations, Nyota,” he says, his eyes downcast. “However I have not decided upon the best course of action yet.”

Nyota watches him for a long moment before nodding. “Well, just know I’m here for you, Spock,” she says softly.

Spock nods. “Thank you, Nyota.”

“I should let you go,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye,” he says, as the comm powers down.

By the time Jim returns from the bathroom damp from an evening shower, Spock is deep in meditation as he feigns sleep.

My dearest son,

I am so glad that you’ve found friends at the Academy. I remember my days in university. I made some of my closest friends there. I wish that you are able find the same at Starfleet.

Your father and I are well. Sarek has been keeping himself busy with his work at the Embassy. He avoids speaking of you when he can, but I know him, Spock. He worries for you and your safety.

All he ever wanted for you was for you to be happy. He was just so sure that he knew where your happiness lay.

And don’t you dare tell me that Vulcans don’t feel happiness, Spock. Not to me.

I can’t help but feel like I should be doing more for you, my son. You’re so far away from me now.

But I can offer you my advice:

Do what feels right. Even if you aren’t sure how things will turn out, put yourself out there and live.

Anything worth doing, is worth doing badly, Spock. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes.

I’m always here for you.

Your mother

Chapter Text

It was early one December morning when Spock receives the first hints that there was something troubling lurking behind Jim’s perpetually sunny disposition.

He is waiting outside Captain Pike’s office for one of their regularly meetings. As he leans against the wall to wait for the captain to finish with his current appointment, Spock’s heightened Vulcan hearing manages to catch part of the conversation occuring behind the door.

“Listen, kid, as much as I’d like to help you out, I can’t. Not without having to inform your professor about some of the . . . specifics about your situation,” Pike says, his voice firm but laced with a fatherly compassion that Spock struggles to remember from his own father.

“Are you sure?” the cadet responds quietly--so quietly that Spock almost doesn’t identify the voice as Jim.

“I’m sorry, Jim.” Pike’s voice is quiet as well. “I’m so sorry.”

They are silent for a few moments. Somehow Spock can tell that they are hugging. Before Jim can exit and discover Spock’s unwilling espionage, Spock pushes away from the wall and makes his way around the corner.

It seems like Pike will be late for their meeting anyway.

It’s not until later that week that Spock can identify the cause of Jim’s conversation with Captain Pike.

He is in Essential Ethics 101, a mandatory course for all Starfleet cadets. Both Pavel and Jim are there. The auditorium is uncharacteristically full. The participation heavy course seems to have pushed away many of their classmates, however this specific lecture has been hyped up all semester by their professor. Today a survivor of the Tarsus IV tragedy has been asked to speak for class.

Since they’d entered the auditorium, Jim has been uncharacteristically quiet. Spock can feel apprehension and tension roll off Jim in heavy waves as they take their seats near the side of the room. Spock notices that Jim has chosen seats near the exit--as if he expects to need a speedy exit.

Their professor takes the podium. “Good morning,” he says, a grin painting his face. “It’s so unusual seeing so many people here.” The crowd of cadets crow with laughter. “Well, without further delay, I’d like to introduce Admiral Robert April.”

The professor steps away and a grey haired man takes his place, seeming to be a few years older than Captain Pike. “Good morning,” the admiral begins. “I’ll admit, I’ve had about six months to prepare for this talk, but I can’t find a way to start.” He pauses and Spock can feel the room get caught on his words. “When we arrived on Tarsus IV,” April says, his voice perfectly professional, “we didn’t know what to think. What we saw was . . . indescribable.”

The admiral gestures for the slide behind him to change. A picture of a house, the furniture overturned every which way and stains on the floor and walls. “Almost every house,” April says, shaking the cadets from their stupor, “looked like this. The survivors of the massacre fought and killed over every scrap of food their could find in the weeks before we arrived.”

Spock felt Jim take a shaky breath.

The slide changes again. A town square and in the center a pyre that was only half burned. “A few days before we beamed down,” April says, “the colonists spared by Kodos--” Jim flinches “--had staged a coup. They began by finally burning the bodies of those killed in the initial massacre. Eventually they allowed the flames to spread to the governor's palace.

“But the worst thing we saw,” April says, the slide changing as he pauses, “were the children.” Plastered across the front wall of the auditorium, large enough to cover the whole area, is a photograph of a group of small children in a ship’s sickbay. They are frail with the effects of starvation as they crowd around the oldest of them--a boy no older than thirteen, his eyes tired and his hands fisted with defiance.

Next to him, Jim has begun to shake, his eyes glued to the image before them. Before Spock can lean in to inquire over his friend’s well-being, Jim bolts.

Spock is left speechless as the door slams shut behind his friend. He looks back at the image of the children and wonders what could have affected his friend to the point of panic. And then it hits him.

The boy.

The boy bears a remarkable resemblance to how Spock would imagine a younger Jim Kirk.

Spock is on Jim’s heels before he can digest the information further.

He finds Jim on the beach a few miles from the Academy campus. Spock stands a few feet away, watching as Jim stares out at the ocean, timing his breaths to the push and pull of the waves.

“It’s the one thing Tarsus didn’t have,” Jim says suddenly, “the ocean.” Spock takes this as an invitation to sit a few feet away from his friend. He watched Jim smile ruefully from the the corner of his eye. “I should have known you’d figure it out and find me,” he says, his voice heavy with a mix of emotions Spock struggles to untangle.

“I could not simply leave you,” he says simply, going for the honesty that has served him well in the past.  

Jim takes a labored breath. “Do you want me to tell you the sob story?”

Spock tears his gaze away from the hypnotic movement of the waves to survey Jim’s face. He finds gritted teeth and white knuckles. He looks away again and allows himself a truly human gesture and shrugs. “Tell me or do not tell me,” he says neutrally. “I am here to provide what you need from me, Jim. Tell me only if it will help.”

Jim nods tersely and stares at the ocean. They spend almost ten minutes watching the sky grow grey with the promise of rain. For a while Spock worries he has not offered his support correctly. And then Jim speaks.

“I guess it doesn’t matter how I got there.” His voice is quiet and hoarse. When Spock glances over at his friend he sees that Jim has begun crying. “It doesn’t matter if I deserved to be sent there or not. I was there.” Jim takes a deep, shaky breath.

“My friend Thomas and I had heard rumors about the famine,” he says, his voice oddly emotionless. “When we heard about the colonists being called to the square, we thought we’d go see what was going on.”

Spock takes the pause as a chance to edge closer to Jim.

Jim shakes his head. “What we saw . . . . We couldn’t believe it. I finally realized we had to do something, so I convinced Tom to help me grab some kids. We grabbed maybe fifteen before the guards realized what we were doing.” Jim chokes down a sob. “We ran. We ran and ran and finally when we were far enough away . . . we lost five kids on the way. I don’t know if they were killed or--or if they just couldn’t keep up, but we couldn’t risk going back to look.

“So we hid away in the forest near and just . . . survived.” Jim’s voice is hollow as Spock snakes an arm around his friend. “It took Starfleet two months to get there.” Jim buries his face in the crook of Spock’s shoulder. “I’ll never forget the words that monster said before ordering them to death, Spock. Sometimes, I can still hear him. Like he’s mocking me.”

Lowering his shields so he can project comfort through his touch, Spock strokes Jim’s hair and allows his friend to cry. “You did everything you could for those children, Jim,” he says when the shaking has subsided. “You made it out.”

“But why me?” Jim asks, his voice belonging to that thirteen year old rather than the young man sitting on the beach with Spock.

He takes a moment to consider his answer before he says, “Because you are good, Jim.”

Exams come and go with their usual flurry and friends leave for the holidays.

Nyota leaves to see her family in the eastern coast of the United States of Africa. Pavel travels back to Russia to visit his many relatives. Dr. McCoy grumbles about having to take a shuttle back to Georgia, but Jim assures Spock that the doctor is secretly excited to see Joanna again. Hikaru will be staying in town to stay with his parents and Jim has taken up some extra courses with Spock.

Spock video calls his mother for Hanukkah and arranges to send her some of her favorite teas and delicacies she is normally unable to acquire on Vulcan.

Jim takes him ice skating and shows him how to fish.

Jim thanks him for that day on the beach with a quick kiss on the cheek.

Spock is content.

A few days into the new year, Spock wakes up and is greeted with a flurry of activity in the front room of his dorm. Hikaru slaps a coned hat to his head as Pavel herds him to the table. Scotty presents him with a large sheet cake as Jim and Nyota burst into song, the doctor watching from the side with a bemused smile gracing his face.

When his friends have finished singing him happy birthday, Spock cracks a grin and allows Scotty and Jim to dig into the cake.

“What are ya plans for today, Michael?” Scotty asks around a mouthful of cake.

Spock cocks his head as he considers the question. “I suppose I will follow my usual schedule, Mr. Scott,” he answers.

His friends groan at his answer, tugging a small smile from his mouth. As Dr. McCoy is about to no-doubtedly berate Spock for his disappointing birthday activities, a knock comes from the door. Spock exchanges a startled look with Pavel as he goes to open the door. He is greeted by a ruffled delivery man who confirms his name and then shoves a package into Spock’s hand before making a hasty exit.

Spock re-enters his dorm and sets the package down on his coffee table. “What is it?” Hikaru asks, peering over Spock’s shoulder to see the package.

“Zhe return address iz from Wulcan!” Pavel exclaims, pointing excitedly.

Nyota surveys Spock’s face before clapping her hands. “Okay, everyone, why don’t we give Michael some privacy to open his gift, hm?” Her suggestion is met with some protest, but a stern look from Nyota and a hearty rousing from Scotty has the majority of Spock’s friends leaving the crowded dorm to begin their day.

Only Jim lingers behind as though he can sense Spock’s uncertainty and apprehension. He rests a hand on Spock’s shoulder and asks, “Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes,” Spock breathes.

Jim squeezes his shoulder as Spock tears open the packaging. In a matter of moments he reveals a worn out hoverboard and a small card. Jim whistles at the sight of the board, as Spock gently picks up the card and reads:

Dearest Spock,

I so greatly enjoyed our comm over the holidays, but I still regret being unable to come see you on your birthday.

I found this a few weeks ago as your father and I cleaned out some of your things (don’t worry--I kept all the important stuff). I thought you could find use of your old friend at the Academy.

Love,

Your Mother

Spock pushes away his tears as he lifts the old hoverboard from its package. He runs his hands along its sides, taking in the faded decals and Vulcan script he and Sybok decorated it with all those years ago. Nostalgia tugs at his heart.

“Was this yours?” Jim asks, reminding Spock that he was not alone.

He nods. “Yes. My mother gave it to me when I was ten years old.”

Jim gives him a wicked grin. “You were a rebel!”

Spock finally turns to look at Jim head on. “Jim, I do not see how having owned a hoverboard in my youth constitutes me as a ‘rebel.’ I have done many other rebellious things since then.”

Jim throws back his head with a laugh. “Boy, would I like to hear about that .”

Spock finds himself alone with Jim more and more in the coming week and with every instance Spock finds it harder and harder to keep his desires under control. A voice that sounds a lot like his father chastises him for his emotionalism.

But Jim is the sun.

And Spock cannot help but be pulled in.

Nyota tells him: “Just do something already. I’m tired of seeing you two pine over each other.”

He often overhears the doctor grumble: “Idiots. Can’t even see what’s right in front of them.”

So Spock decides to listen to his mother and does what feels right .

He’s walking with Jim along the same beach where he had found Jim the last semester. Jim is rambling on about some summer course he is looking forward to taking that will take him away from San Francisco for at least a month. Spock tries to listen, he truly does, but his palms are sweating and he can hardly breathe . Finally Spock stops walking. Jim takes a few more steps before realizing he’s left Spock behind.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows knitted together.

Spock looks out at the water as he swallows through the lump in his throat. He clasps his hands behind his back and faces Jim head on and says, “When are you going to kiss me, Mr. Kirk?”

“What?” Jim chirps, his face flush as he stares at Spock.

Lifting his chin, Spock repeats himself: “When are you going to kiss me?”

A smile slowly takes over Jim’s face as he takes a few steps closer to Spock. “I don’t know,” he purrs, running a hand down Spock’s arm, “when would work for you, Mr. Spock?”

Spock suppresses a shiver. “I believe I have room in my schedule at this juncture, Mr. Kirk,” he murmurs.

“Perfect.”

And it is.

Jim kisses him swiftly, pulling Spock against his body in one fluid movement. Spock frees his hands and presses them everywhere he can reach. Spock kisses Jim as though the sun would swallow them at any moment.

They break apart with a pant. Spock stares into Jim’s eyes, drinking in their bright blue shine like a man who has never seen water.

When Jim smiles at him, Spock swears nothing in the world could touch them.

Chapter Text

Dear Mother,

Jim left today for his summer assignment aboard the U.S.S Farragut . He has expressed his excitement many times, however I find myself discomforted by the idea of Jim undertaking this endeavour alone.

I am doing well. Tomorrow I begin work on a project many of my superiors have expressed enthusiasm for. I wish to explain the project to you, but I have been asked to not divulge any information about the project until its completion.

I find myself curious as to Sarek’s wellbeing. I have had the opportunity to learn about the political unrest concerning the admission of the planet Coridan to the Federation. Many of my professors have speculated that there will be a conference to debate the planet’s admission. If such a conference is called, I have little doubt Sarek will not be sent by the High Council to represent Vulcan.

As always, I wish you good health, Mother. For now I must depart.

Dif-tor heh smusma.

Your son

Spock!

You won’t believe how wonderful it is to be on a starship! God, I haven’t seen this many stars since my trip to . . . you know.

Anyway, Captain Garrovick is an amazing captain (don’t tell Pike I said that). He’s assigned me to the auxiliary phaser section for Gamma shift. A lot of the cadets who are serving with me have gotten similar positions and I’ve heard them bitching about it, but honestly I’d have taken any position Garrovick had offered.  

It’s kinda weird not being able to talk to you or Bones whenever I want, but I guess I can deal with it.

Well, I’ve gotta get going. I’m meeting some guys for combat training in the gym.

Be well.

Jim

To: Cadet Grayson

From: Admiral Barnett

Commander Hershel has informed me of your contributions to the new command test and I would like to offer you a commendation for original thinking. Starfleet is lucking to have you. I look forward to reviewing the finished project.

My dearest son,

Your father and I are doing well. Sarek has indeed been asked by the High Council to attend the Coridan conference. I have no doubt he will perform his duty admirably. I have told him about how you’re faring at the Academy and I can’t help but think he’s proud of you--in his own way of course.

I am so happy to hear about your project, Spock. I hope it will give you sufficient mental stimulation.

You’ve mentioned Jim again. I’m sure he will be just fine on the Farragut . He is surrounded by trained Starfleet officers and he seems like a bright young man. He’ll be fine. I am curious about something though. This is the fifth message in which you have mentioned Jim to me. I realize you are friends, but I can’t help but wonder if there could be something more between you.

No matter what, I am proud of you. God, I am so proud of you, Spock.

I love you

Dear Jim,

I am pleased that you find being aboard a starship so pleasing. Captain Garrovick’s record supports your claims at competency. Rest assured, I have not informed Captain Pike of our private communications.

I admit I also find it disconcerting that I cannot speak to you with the normal ease. But I am assured that you will return safely. My mother has often said that “time flies when you are having fun.” I am not sure if I am having fun, but I have been asked to participate in a project of great proportions by Commander Hershel. You will undoubtedly feel as though time where “flying,” if your excitement at your posting is anything to base conclusions upon.

I wish you the best, ashayam.

Spock

Spock, you won’t believe it!

Garrovick has asked me to accompany him on an away mission to Delta Indi VI next week! He said he’s impressed by my work at the phaser station and he wants me to get a feel for “real” Starfleet work. I mean, I have to disagree with him there--operations positions are essential to running a starship, but I’m honored to attend the mission anyway. Don’t worry--we’re just taking horticultural samples and hoping to scan some of the local fauna up close. Nothing dangerous.

I can’t believe you’re working with Hershel! He’s one of the best computer programmers at the Academy right now! I’m going to have to convince you tell me more about this project ;)

My shift is about to start. I’ll talk to you soon.

Love,

Jim  

To: Cadet Grayson

From: Cadet Chekov

Michael-

I know you are very busy with Commander Hershel’s project, but could you stop by the store and get milk? Oh! And maybe some of those pretzels with hummus you got last time. I’d go myself, but I’m stuck in the lab until eight. Thanks.

Pavel

 To: Cadet Chekov

From: Cadet Grayson

Pavel-

I have gotten the milk and the snacks. I also took the liberty to get some green tea and rocky road ice cream for you and Hikaru to eat while watching holos this weekend. I will see you later tonight.

Michael

 Dear Mother,

Thank you for your assurances concerning Jim. They were most helpful.

I am surprised that I had not told you previously about my relationship with Jim. You are correct, there is something “more” between us. Approximately 2.3 months ago, Jim and I began an exclusive romantic relationship. I apologize for not telling you sooner.

The project I am contributing to is progressing smoothly. It is estimated that it will be ready for a trial run next week. I will appraise you of the results then.

Jim tells me he has been chosen as part of an away team to take horticultural samples on Delta Indi VI. I am reminded of your work integrating Terran flora with those of Vulcan. Delta Indi VI has a dry atmosphere, but reports indicate the ecosystem to be reminiscent of the forests on the eastern seaboard of the North American continent. Would you be interested in receiving a copy of their findings?

As always, I wish you well.

Your son

 Spock-

Delta Indi VI was so beautiful! It’s amazing to think about how all that plant and animal life evolved in such a dry climate the way they have. Even though the plants were beautiful, I can’t help but thinking you’re even more beautiful, babe ;)

Garrovick said he was impressed by my field work. I’m not entirely sure what he’s referring to. I kind of just walked around and looked at pretty flowers (I’m currently trying to convince one of the lab techs to let me take one home to you). Regardless, Garrovick hinted that if I keep “performing admirably,” he might offer me a posting on his ship after I graduate. I don’t know how to tell him Pike has already offered me a position on his ship.

But, Spock, I’m so sure now that this is what I want. Exploring new worlds. Discovering new life--and think of all the undiscovered civilizations just waiting for us out there! I can’t help but feel like I was meant to be here, on a starship. Well, almost. It does feel like there’s something missing on the Farragut .

I miss you a ton. I keep turning around, expecting to see you nearby at a station so I can crack a joke. Or to see Bones grumbling about space or something stupid I’ve just done. Maybe that’s what’s missing . . .

I have another two weeks up here. Try not to miss me too much, sweetie.

I’ll see you soon.

 My dear son,

I’m delighted to hear about Jim! I’m so happy you’ve found someone so important to you. I look forward to meeting him someday; he seems like a fine young man. Please send me a picture of him!

I would indeed be interested in the findings from Delta Indi VI. I’d be curious to see just how similar the plants are to those of Earth or Vulcan.

I hope the results of your project are satisfactory.

In other news, your father has informed me that he will be attending the Coridan conference near the end of September. He has informed me that I am to accompany him and that we will be stopping at Earth before proceeding to the conference itself. Since I will be on planet, I am expecting to see you and Jim during my visit. It’s been too long since we’ve been together, Spock, and I miss you.

Be safe. I love you.

 To: Cadet Grayson

From: Commander Hershel

The project requires a few modifications before it’ll be ready for use. Admiral Barnett is expecting to be able to implement the test into the command course this upcoming semester, so I’m counting on you to get these modifications done.

You’ve got another commendation coming, Grayson. Don’t let us down.

To: Cadet Grayson

From: Cadet Uhura

Spock, would you be interested in attending the Vulcan ballet with me? They’re are performing Friday night at the San Francisco Performing Arts Center at seven.

 To: Cadet Uhura

From: Cadet Grayson

I would be amenable to this. I will see you then.

 Dear Mother,

The preliminary test of the project has yielded satisfactory results. I estimate about another two weeks of modifications before the project is completed. Jim will also return from his posting on the Farragut in two weeks. I find myself . . . concerned about how much I have noticed his absence. Jim has also expressed similar sentiments, however I am unsure how to respond to him. I am afraid of overwhelming him with the depth of my regard for him. Nyota has assured me that Jim feels similarly about me, but I am still apprehensive. I would have your thoughts on the matter, Mother.

In response to your previous message, I will inform Jim of your desire to meet him. I have included a photo of him as well. [Jim.jgp]

Dif-tor heh smusma.

 It’s been a while since you’ve messaged me, Spock. Is something wrong? I keep telling myself you’re just busy with your project, but I can’t help but worry that I’ve scared you off with my ramblings.

We’re doing well on the Farragut .

I miss you.

Jim

 My dearest Spock,

You should not be afraid of your feelings for Jim. He will not be “overwhelmed” by your regard for him. If what you’ve told me is anything to go on, he probably loves you, too.

Tell him how you feel, Spock. You’ll both be happier for it.

I look forward to meeting the man responsible for such love. Although I can see why you fell for him--he’s quite attractive ;).

Your mother.

 To: Cadet Uhura

From: Cadet Grayson

Do you believe I am in love with Jim?

To: Cadet Grayson

From: Cadet Uhura

Holy shit you didn’t know?!

 Ashaya,

I apologize for my lack of communication. I assure you I was not “scared off” by your ramblings. In fact, they have lead to a realization on my part. But that is something I wish to divulge to you in person. Rest assured that I still hold you in high regard, Jim.

I am pleased that you are well. I look forward to your return next week. My project is also reaching its conclusion. I expect to have finished by the time you arrive.

I have informed my mother of our relationship and she has expressed a desire to meet you. Would you be amenable to such a meeting?

I find myself unable to turn my thoughts from you, ashayam. I will see you soon.

Yours, always,

Spock

 Spock,

I’m so glad I didn’t overwhelm you with all that gushy talk. I admit I am a little scared as to what it could be you have to tell me, but I’ll trust your word. As to your mother . . . I would love to meet her even if that’s a huge, really intimidating step in our relationship. But I think we’re ready for it ;)

I’ll admit I also have something to tell you when I get back.

I can’t wait to see you, babe. Only five more days.

Love,

Jim

 To: Cadet Grayson

From: Commander Hershel

I commend you for being able to finish the project so quickly! Admiral Barnett is extremely pleased with the results. This project will set a positive precedence for the rest of your career with Starfleet.

I look forward to working with you again, Michael.

 Spock tries not to fidget (as Dr. McCoy is so fond of calling it) as they wait in Space Dock 1 for the Farragut to finish its docking procedures. After a month and a half in space, Jim would finally be returning home. Home. Spock ponders the word as he observes McCoy and Nyota chatter with Mr. Scott to his right. Behind him, Pavel and Hikaru are arguing over the particulars of a physics application regarding warp speed and the time continuum (Spock would offer his answer, but he knows they are waiting to ask Jim).

Yes, Spock thinks, this could be home.

“ Docking procedures complete. Passengers to disembark promptly, ” the intercom informs them.

Spock and his friends snap to attention as the glass doors hiss open to allow a stream of officers and cadets exit the Farragut . They watch for a few minutes as the multicolored heads and shirts filter past them. Finally ( finally ) a familiar blond head bobs and weaves through the crowd in their direction.

Dr. McCoy is the first to receive Jim’s greetings. His arms wrap tightly around the doctor’s neck; Jim smiles and offers his greetings to his friends. He finally detaches himself from the doctor to scribble on Hikaru’s PADD and to ruffle Pavel’s hair.

Spock is frozen in place as Jim smiles, light seeming to come from him. Spock wonders, not for the first time, what he has done to deserve to love (and be loved) by such an ethereal being.

Then Jim turns and Spock feels the floor cave out from under him. Jim steps closer and offers him a gentle smile. “Hello, gorgeous,” he says, his voice gentler than Spock could have ever predicted it to be.

As Jim reaches out for him, Spock feels something crack inside his chest. His face relaxes and he can feel his regard for Jim shine out through his expression. “Hello, Jim,” he whispers.

Jim grins, his eyes trained on Spock’s smile. Then he leans forward and gives Spock the gentlest, most tender kiss in the history of all kisses. As he pulls Jim closer and feels Jim’s heart pound through Jim’s clothing and against his chest, Spock feels as though he finally understands the ancient words his people reserve only for the closest of bonds--

“Parted from me and never parted,” Spock breathes as Jim pulls away.

Jim radiates again, and this time his happiness brushes against Spock gently. “Never and always touching and touched,” he finishes the customary greeting. Spock raises an eyebrow in silent question and Jim laughs. “I’m dating a Vulcan,” he answers softly, pressing his forehead to Spock’s, “I did my research.”

“I am impressed, Jim,” Spock answers.

Jim smirks, returning his attention to Spock’s lips. “Good.” He leans forward and--

“Dear God, get a room!” Dr. McCoy exclaims.

Spock and Jim turn to their friends to see Nyota and Hikaru hiding large smiles whereas Pavel and Mr. Scott look away uncomfortably. Jim laughs again and turns to their friends, his arm still around Spock’s waist. “Admit it, Bonsey, you missed me!” Jim teases.

McCoy huffs, crossing his arms. “About as much as a cow misses the butcher.”

His friends laugh and Spock is sure, then, that this is home.

 Later that night, after they have all eaten dinner together and said their goodbyes, Spock brings Jim back to his dorm. When Spock had realized the true depth of his regard for Jim and had begun his plan to reveal that depth to him, he had approached Pavel and asked, quite timidly he’s been told, if he and Jim could “borrow” the room for the evening of his return. Pavel had agreed enthusiastically, openly expressing his astonishment that Spock and Jim had not asked him earlier.

Spock leads Jim to the common area where he had left a chess board setup for their use. Spock heads to the kitchen to prepare refreshments. He watches as Jim drifts around the room and picks up a PADD. Jim turns to Spock. “What’s this?” He holds the PADD up as Spock returns to the couch with their drinks. The PADD contains line after line of code.

“That,” Spock says, gently taking the PADD from Jim, “is part of the project I spent the summer working with Commander Hershel on.”

Jim answers with an impressed hum. “How was that project?” he asks, taking his seat.

“It was intellectually stimulating and satisfying challenging,” Spock replies, sitting opposite.

“That’s wonderful,” Jim replies, throwing Spock a smile. Spock reaches forward and presses their fingers together in a quick kiss. Jim’s smiles softens before he turns to the chess board and begins the game. “How’s your mom?” he asks, as Spock moves a pawn.

“She is well,” Spock says. “She will be accompanying my father to Earth in September. She wishes to see us then.”

Jim nods as he moves his rook. “Will I be able to meet your father, too?” he asks, glancing at Spock.

“No,” Spock says with a small shake of his head. “I have not spoken to my father since I left Vulcan. He will not come to greet us.”

Jim rolls a pawn between his fingers. “I don’t know if I’m overstepping here, but can I ask why you don’t talk to your dad anymore?”

Spock softens as he moves a knight. “I am not bothered by your questions, Jim,” he replies. He leans back against the couch and takes a deep breath. “From a very young age, my father had made it clear that he wished for me to follow the Vulcan way. And, from a young age, I agreed with him.

“But,” Spock continues, “I have always felt as though I were unable to live up to his expectations. There was always an instance when I would act or say something unbecoming of a Vulcan--like when my mother gifted me the hoverboard.” He shares a small smile with Jim.

“Eleven point two months ago, I was to enter the Vulcan Science Academy.” Spock watches Jim’s eyes grow wide. “I declined admission.”

Jim furrows his eyebrows. “Why would you do that?”

Spock frowns softly. “May I show you?” he asks.

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like a mind meld?” Spock nods. “Isn’t that, like, reserved for couples on Vulcan?”

“Are we not a couple?” Spock asks, an eyebrow raised.

Jim laughs and moves to sit next to Spock on the couch. “Alright, you got me there,” he says, smiling gently at Spock. “Show me.”

A wave of nervousness suddenly rushes through Spock. He quickly dispels it. This is Jim . Smiling quietly, Spock raises his hand and presses his fingertips to the meld points on Jim’s face. Quietly he whispers, “My mind to your mind--”

‘ My thoughts to your thoughts,’ he continues in his mind.

Immediately he is hit by the vibrancy and energy that makes up Jim’s mind. He looks around and is amazed by the color and brightness and warmth that makes up Jim’s thoughts. Something deep in Spock’s katra seems to reach out for Jim.

‘Are your thoughts like this all the time?’ Jim asks, his mental voice breathless as his thoughts are colored with pinks and reds. Spock can feel him inspecting his mind as he had inspected Jim’s.

‘I-I take it my mind pleases you?’ Spock asks shyly.

Surak, Spock can feel Jim smile through a current of warmth and affection. ‘It does, Spock,’ Jim says. ‘Now show me why you rejected the VSA , for Christ’s sake.’

Spock lets Jim hear him chuckle as he draws the memory from his mind. He shows Jim the council and their comment about his heritage. And he shows Jim his anger and hurt, especially when he detected Sarek’s own anger. When Jim sees Spock respond to the council and walk out with one finger thrown over his shoulder, he can sense Jim’s satisfaction and amusement.

‘And then you joined Starfleet,’ Jim concludes as the memory ends.

‘Yes, I did,’ Spock answers. ‘My father does not speak to me for that reason. And I can hardly blame him. I did break Vulcan law by joining Starfleet.’

Jim seems to consider that for a moment, his mind becoming turbulent as colors and shapes fly past. Spock tries to engrain the image in his mind because to him, every facet of Jim is beautiful.

Finally Jim says, ‘I understand that Sarek might be upset that you broke the law to join Starfleet, but I still can’t really understand why he’s ignoring you.’

Spock had his own ideas as to why his father decided to ignore him, but none seem . . . logical. ‘I have found that children rarely understand the motives of their parents,’ he says simply.

Jim seems to grow pensive at his words and Spock watches as the colors race past him once more. ‘As much as I love this,’ Jim says suddenly, ‘my neck is starting to get stiff.’

‘My apologies,’ Spock says. ‘I will end the meld now.’

Slowly, their awareness returns to their bodies and Spock finds he’s closed his eyes at some point. He opens them slowly to let them acclimate to the light once more. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the way Jim is looking at him--his attention rapt on every feature of Spock’s face. “What is it?” Spock asks, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

Jim raises a hand and brushes them against the artificial rounded tips of Spock’s ears. “You know,” he says, his eyes wandering over Spock’s face, “I kinda prefer the pointed ears and bowl cut.” Spock feels his face flush green as Jim runs a hand through his hair. Jim leans in close and presses his lips to the skin behind Spock’s ear. “I missed you,” he whispers, dragging his lips over Spock’s ear, causing him to shiver. “I missed you so much.”

“Ashayam,” Spock breathes as his back arches and he clings to Jim’s shoulders. Jim seems to tease him as he traces Spock’s cheekbones with light kisses. He seems to show his affection to every inch of Spock’s face except his lips.

Then finally, Jim leans back a fraction to smile at Spock and brush a loose hair out of his eyes. At some point, Spock has laid down on the couch with Jim’s comfortable weight hovering over him. “Spock,” Jim says reverently, as though his name were something precious--as though he were something precious. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Jim,” Spock says, the same reverence and love in his voice. Spock raises his pointer and middle finger and caresses Jim’s face with a Vulcan kiss. “Taluhk nash-veh k'dular.” Jim closes his eyes as a gentle smile spreads across his face and Spock can’t help himself--he leans up and captures that smile with his lips. As their lips move together in a dance reminiscent of those Spock’s people performed when Pon Farr was not something to be ashamed of, Spock feels as though the universe had finally settled into place.

 The beginning of the fall semester differs from the beginning of the others Spock had experienced at the Academy for two reasons: the first, he began the semester by holding Jim’s hand at breakfast; and the second--the academy board announced a new test for all Command track students--the Kobayashi Maru.

Naturally, Jim, Pavel, and Hikaru saw the test as a challenge and were determined to beat it.  In fact, Jim was the first cadet to take the test. Spock had been the first Jim had approached for his hypothetical crew and it had pained Spock to have to deny him. Not only had the academy board asked him to defer from participating in the test because of his involvement with its creation, but Commander Hershel had asked him to observe the first “true” running of the program.

It had been a failure.

Not the program. No, Spock and Commander Hershel were quite pleased with how smoothly the program ran. But Jim’s mission had spiralled out of control. Nearly all the members of his bridge crew had perished, and the Klingons had fired on the Kobayashi Maru before turning their full power on Jim’s ship. Jim had taken control of the helm after Hikaru was put out of action, and personally steered the ship away from the enemy ships. Before they could return to Federation space, however, the Klingons fired and took out a quarter of the ship.

As the test ends, Jim stands in the center of the simulator, staring blankly at the viewscreen as the red lights flashed a final time before turning off.

Spock wishes for nothing more than the ability to wipe the hopeless expression from Jim’s face. He wants nothing more than to take Jim into his arms and assure him that no such thing would ever happen under his command. Because his friends would be there. Because the real world had more variables than a simulation could provide.

Because, in reality, Spock would be there.

Instead, he is trapped in the control center. Hershel asks him to review the data from the program and ensure it had worked as smoothly as it had looked. Spock reads over the data quietly, feeling more numb and unfeeling than he had ever felt on Vulcan. All he can think about is how defeated Jim had looked.

Commander Hershel dismisses him an hour after Jim had finished his test. Spock huries to Jim and McCoy’s dorm, hoping they have returned there to lick their wounds. As he bounds in, Spock is taken aback by the sight of nearly all of Jim’s bridge crew huddled around Jim’s PADD. When Spock realizes they are staring up at him, he shakes his shock away and asks, “How did the test go?”

“Terrible,” Jim replies with a bright smile, “and that’s why we’re going to beat it!”

Spock sets his bag down by the door and actually steps into the room. “Beat it?”

Pavel nods feverishly. “Da! Jim says dat de test is rigged, so he is going to beat it.”

“The proctor said that the purpose of the test is to see how we’d react to a certain death situation,” Jim says, “but they’re assuming we’ll get ourselves in that situation in the first place.”

McCoy slings an arm around Jim’s shoulder and grumbles, “Apparently Jimmy here ‘doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios.’ So we’re taking the test again to stick it to the man.”

Spock takes in the determination in each of his friends faces and realizes he cannot stop them from trying, even if he wanted to. So he sits down between Uhura and Pavel and does his best to be helpful without revealing his involvement in the test.

 Jim fails his second test two weeks later.

To his credit, he lasted nearly two hours longer than he had the first time and had significantly lower casualties, but the programing of the test had won out in the end and he was defeated.

This time, Spock is waiting for Jim outside the simulator. When Jim and the crew emerge, Spock quickly realizes that Jim will try again, even if the data all points to it being a fruitless effort. Spock follows Jim wordlessly back to his dorm, unsure of how to approach the situation. Jim begins pacing before his bed, muttering softly to himself.

“Jim,” Spock says, “you cannot be considering to take the test again.”

Jim snaps his head up to look at him sharply. “Of course I’m taking the test again!” he exclaims.

“But why? There is no way to win,” Spock says. He isn’t sure why he is protesting beyond the thought that seeing Jim so defeated is unthinkable.

Jim throws his hands into the air. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way.”

“How?” Spock demands. “The test is written to be unwinnable.”

Jim stares at him for a moment and Spock swears he can feel the colors and shapes of Jim’s abstract thoughts sweep past him. Jim snaps his fingers and takes his PADD in hand. “That’s it!”

“What is?” Spock asks, stepping closer to peer over Jim’s shoulder. He catches a glimpse of multiple lines of code before Jim beings pacing again. “Jim--”

“If the test is written to be unbeatable,” Jim begins, “then I just have to rewrite the test!”

Spock’s eyes go wide. “That is cheating, Jim.”

“The test is a cheat!” Jim says, whirling on Spock.

“The test is designed to make the cadet experience fear in the face of death,” Spock attempts to explain through gritted teeth. “The cadet is then judged on how they face that fear and maintain themselves before their crew.”

Jim perches himself up on his desk as he continues typing on his PADD. “But that’s just it, Spock,” he says. “I agree that it is important to see how we will react to stressful situations, but this test takes it too far. If it had any--” Jim stops suddenly, staring at his PADD.

Spock fights off a frown. “‘If it had any’ what, Jim?”

Jim looks up at him then back down at his screen. “Did you . . . was the Kobayashi Maru the project you were working on this summer?”

The betrayal and astonishment in Jim’s gaze is a punch to the gut. “How did you know?” Spock asks breathlessly.

Jim turns his PADD around and shows him the familiar lines of code that Spock had spent the last two and a half months writing and rewriting. “This is the code I found in your dorm,” Jim says quietly.

Unsure how else to respond and almost physically unable to lie to Jim, Spock nods his head and says, “You are correct. I was part of the team responsible for coding the test.”

“Then it really is unwinnable,” Jim says, staring blankly at his lap.

Spock steps forward and reaches out for his friend . . . his brother . . . his lover. “Jim--”

“No,” Jim says firmly, his head snapping up to glare at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Spock lets his hand fall back to his side. “Commander Hershel ordered me to keep my involvement a secret in case any cadets tried to solicit my help.”

“And you didn’t say anything when they decided it would be unwinnable?” Jim demands.

“I saw no problem with it,” Spock says, clasping his hands behind his back and raising his head, easily falling into the comfort of the “professional Vulcan.”

“Didn’t see any--!” Jim exclaims. “Spock, I’ve spoken to the kids that have taken this test and they are scared to death of something like the Kobayashi Maru happening in real life. If there was even some possibility of winning, the test would be more fair and they might be more reassured in their own abilities.”

“But as you know, Jim, the test is unwinnable.”

“Then I’m going to make a way to win.”

“While I admire your sense of duty, cheating is still unacceptable.”

“What’s unacceptable is scaring the living shit out of kids who will, almost regardless of the outcome of this test, be commanders and captains in Starfleet,” Jim says, his eyes blazing as he waves his hands around wildly. Spock is reminded then, quite vividly, of Jim’s hopeless expression after his first try at the test and how unacceptable is was to Spock that Jim should feel that way again. “Frankly,” Jim continues, “I’d rather serve on a ship with a captain willing to cheat to live than one who keels over and accepts defeat just because the ‘parameters of the situation’ call for it.”

“Jim--”

Jim shakes his head. “No, you know what? I need to be alone right now.”

Spock stands still, his blood cold as Jim turns away from him to continue typing on his PADD. As though Spock was not even there. Heart heavy and still in his side, Spock quietly exits the room and makes his way to his own dorm to meditate. When he opens the door, he finds Pavel and Hikaru huddled over a PADD, murmuring about the Kobayashi Maru. Resigned to the fact that he will find no meditation here, Spock turns to the next best thing. He grabs his hoverboard and makes his way outside before either of his friends notice him.

As he rides out of the gates of the Academy and into the city, Spock ponders the merit of Jim’s words. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the test should be winnable, even if the odds of success are low.

Spock turns down a quiet street, attempting to order his thoughts and emotions. He flutters in and out of the street lights, his hoverboard hardly making a sound. Just as he is about to enter the halo of the next light, a hand shoots out and grabs Spock’s arm. Falling rather ungracefully from the hoverboard, Spock struggles to regain his center of gravity. Two other hands grab his other arm as a cloth is swiftly pressed to his mouth and nose.

The last thought Spock has before the darkness takes over is that he wishes he had informed Pavel of his whereabouts before leaving the dorm. But wishing to change past actions is illogical.

Kaiidth , as his people would say.

And then the world was dark.

Chapter Text

When Spock wakes up approximately 2.56 hours later, he is in a dark room. His arms and legs are tied to a chair and his head is pounding at his temples. Outside the steel door, he can hear voices speaking. He strains his ears as he listens closely for any information that can help identify his captors or why he may have been taken. After a few moments, Spock realizes they are not speaking Federation Standard. An unhelpful voice in his minds supplies that this situation would be easier to handle if Nyota were here.

But although Spock might not be able to understand what his captors are saying just beyond the door of his cell, he can identify the language--Orion. Spock leans back in his chair and begins to ponder what Orions could possibly gain by kidnapping him.

Suddenly, the voices grow quiet. A louder, sterner voice barks an order and the steel door claws against the cold concrete as it is pushed open. A tall, muscular Orion male steps through the door flanks closely by two smaller males. Spock catches a glimpse of an additional two males still guarding the door from the hallway before the large male steps before him. The Orion takes Spock’s chin in his hand roughly and turns his face back and forth, assessing his features for a few moments. Spock begins to wonder if he is to be sold as a slave when the male says to him, “I thought you were supposed to be Vulcan.” His voice is velvet.

Spock blinks, feeling the male’s cold curiosity through the fingers still clamped on his chin. “I am Vulcan,” Spock says, wondering vacantly how these Orions were aware of his true nature.

“Then where are your pointed ears?” the males asks, turning Spock’s head roughly to see the offending body part.

“I had them covered with an artificial cartilage,” Spock grits out.

The Orion finally releases his chin and straightens, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He turns to the Orion on his right and gives the male a terse instruction in their native tongue. The male returns his gaze to Spock once more before grinning. He turns on his heal and marches out the door again, leaving one of his escorts in the cell with Spock.

Spock glances at the smaller male and wonders what will be done with him now. The Orion steps forward tentatively and pulls a hypo from his pocket. Spock remains still as the hypo is administered and the world becomes dark once more.

He wonders briefly if he will ever get to tell Jim he is sorry.

Jim rubs at his temples absently as he pours over line after line of code. Spock’s code. His anger still lies in embers near the back of his mind. He replays the argument once more in his head and wonders if he hadn’t been too quick to dismiss Spock. Jim sighs and reaches for a glass of water. He probably was too snappish. Spock would have listened to Jim’s argument if Jim had just listened to his. He shakes his head again, trying to dislodge his headache as his anger dissolves into guilt. Who knows what Spock had made of Jim’s dismissal.

Mind made up, Jim sets his PADD aside and straightens to crack his back. He’s been sitting at his desk for nearly three hours and Bones is already going to lecture him about yelling at Spock--he doesn’t need a health rant on top of that.

Jim wanders to the kitchen to refill his cup, pulling out his personal comm as he walks. He dials Spock’s number and fills the cup as the comm rings . . . and rings . . . and rings. Jim frowns as the robotic voice asks Jim to leave a message after the tone. Clearing his throat Jim says, “Hey, Spock. Listen I need to talk to you about what happened. Call me back?”

He sets the comm down and drums his fingers against the counter. It isn’t like Spock to ignore his calls. Then again, it isn’t like Jim and Spock to fight and not work through their differences before parting ways. Jim groans and scrubbs him face in his hands, sure he’s messed up big time.

“What’d you do now?” Bones asks as he throws his bag on the couch.

Jim’s head shoots up, causing a bolt of pain to shoot through his temples. “Did you know Spock helped code the Kobayashi Maru?” Jim asks as an opening line.

Bones’ eyebrows shoot up as he collapses on the couch. “He did?” Bones says. He scrubs at his chin and nods to himself. “I’m not that surprised, honestly. It seems like the kinda test a Vulcan would come up with.”

“You’re taking this better than I did,” Jim sighs as he joins Bones on the couch.

“How’d you even find out?” Bones asks. “Spock doesn’t seem like the kinda guy to just tell you--especially after you’ve taken it twice already.”

Jim smiles awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I figured it out when I pulled up the coding for the test and recognized it as Spock’s.”

Bones stares at him for a moment before slapping him upside his head. “You idiot!” Bones yells over the throbbing in Jim’s head. “You were gonna cheat weren’t you!”

“It’s not cheating! It’s changing the conditions of the test!” Jim cries.

Bones sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “And I bet Spock saw it that way too, huh?”

Jim shakes his head softly. “No, we fought and now he’s not answering my comm.”

Bones huffs. “Maybe he’s just busy working in his room?”

“Maybe . . .” Jim considers. “Lemme ask Pavel if he’s at home.” Bones nods and slaps Jim’s shoulder, his personal stamp of approval. Jim comms Pavel in record time and listens to the comm ring once before he’s greeted with Pavel’s sunny, “Hello?”

“Pavel!” Jim cries. “Have you seen Michael since we finished the test? I tried to reach him a while ago and he didn’t pick up.”

He hears Pavel humm thoughtfully before answering. “No, Jim, I ‘ave not seen him. Dis is strange. Michael is usually home or with you by dis hour of night.”

“Yeah it is,” Jim replies, letting his thoughts get ahead of him for a moment. “Thanks anyway, Pav. Lemme know if he shows up?”

“Of course, Jim!”

Jim meets Bones’ eyes and shakes his head. Bones reaches over and squeezes the back of Jim’s neck. “Don’t worry, kid. He’ll show up soon. Knowing that walking encyclopedia, he’s prolly tucked away in the library, studying his angst away.” Bones smiles tightly. “Spock’ll show up tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Jim nods and tries to get his body to relax as his temples throb once more. Spock will show up tomorrow.

He has to.

When Spock awakens once more, he can feel his hair brush against his eyebrows--something he has not experienced since leaving Vulcan. Without access to any reflective material, Spock can only assume his captors have removed the artificial ears and eyebrows that once hid his Vulcan heritage and returned him to his natural Vulcan appearance. A small voice mourns the fact that Jim may never see him so.

Spock takes in his cell. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small hole in the ceiling. Spock estimates it must be near morning. He is still strapped to the chair, a fact that makes him question if he is truly to be sold as a slave. From what he had learned in his studies, Orion slave traders do not treat their cargo so humanely.

There must be another reason for his capture then.

Before he can speculate any more, the door screeches and tears at the floor again. The large Orion male enters the room, this time accompanied only by the smaller male that had been left with Spock the previous evening. The large male takes in Spock’s natural features and throws a lazy smile at his companion. “Nollack has done fine work returning you to normal, my young guest,” he says, lazy glee radiating from his voice. “You actually look like we expected you to now.”

Spock’s eyebrows shoot up. They were looking for him specifically. Was he a hostage?

“Go begin your work on Thelev, Nollack,” the large male instructs his companion. “I expect even better results than you’ve given me here, friend.”

Nollack bows to the male and leaves the room on brisk feet. The male returns his gaze to Spock and something predatory stalks into his eyes. “It’s a pity I can’t play with you,” he purrs. “I’ve never played with a Vulcan and--” he brushes the back of his hand against Spock’s cheek-- “you’re very striking.”

Spock pulls away from the male’s hand sharply and slams his shields up. He can no longer take the putrid emotions radiating from this beast . The Orion’s chest rumbles as he chuckles. “You have spunk, Son of Sarek. I like that.”

Spock files away that piece of information too. It seemed he was most definitely a hostage--and it had something to do with Sarek.

The Orion motions to one of the males waiting the hall. Another Orion enters with a camera and begins snapping pictures. Spock can only blink between the clicks of the camera, wondering just what these people wanted from his father. The smaller Orion finishes his task and is dismissed from the cell. The large male smiles at Spock, his grin predatory. “I suppose if worst comes to worst,” he murmurs as he backs out of the room, “you’ll fetch a pretty price on the slave market.”

The door closes behind him with a deafening slam.

Spock wonders if his father will tell anyone of his capture.

Jim’s worry becomes palpable as he spends the morning without even the barest sighting of Spock. He asks all of their friends (and some of Spock’s posh study buddies), but it’s like Spock’s just . . . vanished. By lunch, Jim has rounded up as many of his friends as he can spare and sets out into the city to see if they can find any trace of Spock.

Jim and Bones are scoping out some of Spock’s favorite tea shops near Little ShiKhahr when Uhura comms them. “Did you find anything?” Jim asks before the comm has even connected entirely.

“I found something, but, Jim, it’s not good,” Uhura says, grimly.

“What is it, Uhura?” Jim asks, desperate for any sign that Spock even existed.

“It’s his hoverboard,” Uhura says quietly. “I found it in an ally.”

Jim can barely hear over the white noise that has flooded his ears. Bones takes the comm from him gently and exchanges a few words with Uhura as Jim begins to feel the world spin around him. Spock would never leave his hoverboard in an ally of his own volition. Someone would have had to have taken it from him or forced him to leave it behind for such a thing to happen.

Forced him to leave it behind.

Jim can feel the panic claw up his throat. Was Spock even alive at this point? Would the last thing Spock would ever hear him say was Jim asking him to leave? No, this had to all be a bad dream. Jim would wake up any second now and Spock would tease him over something silly at breakfast and Jim would apologize and treat Spock like the gift he was and--

“Jim?”

An unfamiliar female voice snapped Jim from his downward spiral. He looked up and caught the eye of a beautiful older woman. Her blue eyes seem to twinkle and she gives him a small smile. “You’re Jim Kirk, right?” she asks, her voice like smooth water to Jim’s nerves.

Jim stares at her for a moment longer before it clicks--the kind eyes and the subtle bone structure. The resemblance was underlying, but Jim had stared at those features for nearly a year now and had them nearly inscribed on his soul. This was Spock’s mother.

“I-I am,” Jim chokes out. “You’re Dr. Grayson?”

Dr. Grayson chuckles quietly. “Call me Amanda, please.” She places a hand on Jim’s shoulder and takes him in silently. “You’re much more handsome in person, Jim.”

Jim feels his face color under Amanda’s gentle gaze. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says quietly. Bones steps up next to him. “This is my friend, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is Amanda Grayson, Spock’s mother.”

Bones shakes her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” Amanda says, her eyes laughing as Bones kisses the back of her hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, Jim. Is Spock with you?”

Jim cringes. “We were actually looking for him, ma’am. He hasn’t shown up since last night.”

Amanda frowns at this. “That’s not like him at all.”

“That’s what I said,” Jim mutters quietly.

Before Amanda can reply, her comm beeps shrilly from her purse. “Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” she says gently, taking her comm out, “it’s my husband.” Jim shares an awkward look with Bones as Amanda turns away slightly to speak with Sarek. Jim watches as Amanda stills and grows deathly pale. She nods tersely and closes the comm, staring at nothing for a long moment before turning back to Jim. He feels a shiver run down his spine as Amanda’s sorrowful gaze seems to cut through him.

“My husband has just informed me,” she says numbly, “that he has received a communication from an anonymous source demanding he vote in their favor at the Babel conference, or we will never see our son again.”

Jim’s very bones seem to turn to ice. “You mean Spock’s been taken hostage?” he asks, breathlessly. Amanda nods, her hands shaking. Jim stumbles back a step, his thoughts a murky stream of nononono notSpocknotSpock NotSpock! He can distantly hear Bones calling his name, but he can’t bring himself to listen. All he can think is that this is his fault . If he hadn’t gotten angry, if he hadn’t asked Spock to leave, if he hadn’t--

“Jim.” Amanda’s voice ricochets off the sides of Jim’s mind, quieting his panic if even for a moment. “My husband has alerted the authorities. We will find him.”

Her confidence seems to flip a switch somewhere inside of him and Jim begins to feel steady again. They will find him.

Jim will find him.

Jin, Bones, and Uhura are escorted to the Vulcan Embassy to speak with Starfleet and Vulcan authorities about everything they know about Spock’s disappearance. There’s an awkward moment when they have to reveal to Starfleet that Spock is half-Vulcan and thus attending the Academy illegally, but Jim quickly brushes the thought aside. It wouldn’t matter if Spock was Vulcan or not if they couldn’t find him.

“If we’re being honest with you, Ambassador Sarek,” Inspector Mallory from the Starfleet Criminal Investigative Services says, “we have very little evidence to go on here. Many other ambassadors who are attending the Babel conference have received similar threats, but we have very little luck pinning down who is behind all this.” Mallory clears his throat awkwardly as the Vulcan investigators sharing jurisdiction on the investigation stare at him blankly. “The only clue we have if that they stand  to lose a lot if Coridan is admitted to the Federation.”

Jim begins to comb through everything he’s heard about Coridan and Babel as Mallory chatters about the complexities of trying to narrow down suspects and possible locations.

“Can I see the message?” Jim asks suddenly, startling everyone in the room.

“Why?” Sarek asks, his expression tight.

Jim swallows thickly. “Uhura and I might be able to backtrack the signal and figure out where they transmitted from,” he says, hoping beyond hope that Sarek might just trust him with this.

Sarek studies him closely before nodding curtly. Mallory seems to flail quite hopelessly. “Y-you can’t just show them evidence from an open case!”

“Why not?” Amanda asks cooly from Sarek’s side. “You’ve discussed enough of this case in front of them. They might as well try to help.”

Mallory looks to the Vulcan inspectors as if he’s expecting them to side with him. “We should accept help when it is given. The decision is logical,” Inspector T’Par says, her partner nodding in agreement. Mallory throws his hands up and collapses in a chair, muttering something about respecting good police work. Jim doesn’t care. Sarek has pulled up the message on his PADD and hands it to Uhura.

Uhura and Jim read the hostile message slowly. Jim nearly cries when Uhura scrolls to reveal a very confused, very Vulcan Spock tied to a chair in a dim, concrete room. Uhura hands the PADD to Jim so he can begin to dissect the transmission codes. She turns to Sarek and the inspectors. “While the message may be written in Federation Standard,” she says, her lecture voice strikingly similar to Spock’s, “the diction is reminiscent of the languages spoken in the Orion system.”

“Orions have been traders in the Coridan system for many years,” Inspector T’Par says. “It would be logical to assume they would be against a positive outcome from the conference.” Her partner and Sarek nod in agreement.

Bones leans in close to Jim and whispers, “Man, I used to think Spock sounded like a computer, but he’s got nothing on these guys.”

Jim shoots Bones an amused look before returning his attention to the PADD. “The transmission was bounced off of multiple receivers, making the original location difficult to pinpoint,” Jim says, still typing on the screen, “but there’s something about the picture that’s bothering me.” He brings the picture up again, trying to ignore the sight of Spock tied up. “I swear I’ve seen some place like this before.”  

“What the hell are you talking about, Jimmy?” Bones asks. “It’s just a concrete room. Hell, there aren’t even windows; he could be anywhere.”

But Jim can’t shake the familiarity of the picture. Then it hits him. “Alcatraz.”

The Vulcans furrow their eyebrows. “Alcatraz?” T’Par asks.

“It’s a small island in San Francisco Bay that was used as a prison from the 1930s to the 1960s,” Uhura says, her eyes widening. “It’s been a tourist destination for centuries, but it’s currently closed for restoration.”

“The perfect place to hide an imprisoned Vulcan hostage,” Bones concludes.

Inspector T’Par’s mouth quirks down for a second as she retrieves her comm unit. “We will have to do further reconnaissance to substantiate your claim, Cadet Kirk,” she says. “For now, you must leave the work to us.”

Jim feels his eyes nearly pop out of his face as he shoots to his feet. “What? Recon will take too long. What if they get fed up with waiting and hurt him?”

T’Par narrows her eyes slightly. “You are emotionally compromised by your relationship with the hostage, Cadet Kirk,” she says coldly. “You and your friends are to remain here until further notice.” Without another word, T’Par, her partner, and Inspector Mallory depart.

Jim stares blankly at at the door and wonders if he can stop his hands from shaking. Ambassador Sarek steps into his view suddenly. “I thank you for your assistance, Cadet Kirk,” he says neutrally. “I assure you that the logical course of action now is to allow the authorities to do their job.”

Something boils inside Jim’s chest. “You wouldn’t say that if you actually cared about Spock,” he spits. Bones hisses his name behind him, but Jim can’t hear past the roaring in his ears.

Sarek simply raises an eyebrow at him.

And it’s that simple gesture--that gesture that belongs to Spock not Sarek --that sends Jim stomping out of the room.

Spock forces his stomach not to growl.

He has been in the Orions’ custody for nearly twenty-four hours and they have neglected to bring him any sustenance. The small room he is being kept in has begun to grown dimmer, seeming to indicate that the sun is setting.

With little else to consider (his bindings are too strong to be broken and the hole in the ceiling too small to consider escaping through), Spock’s thoughts turn to Jim. He slips in and out of meditation, recalling Jim’s smile and his laugh and the way he held Spock’s hands and--

Spock allows himself to sigh. Despite how grounding his memories of Jim are, they fill him with a painful longing. He cannot bear to think of his beloved for too long. He resigns to reciting Surak’s ten fundamental principles to focus his thoughts.

He is nearing the eighth principle when he hears a groan from outside the door. Jerking out of the lightest layer of meditation, Spock listens to the silence for the telltale signs of the large Orion male returning to his cell. The door hisses open, but it is not the Orion that stands before him, but . . . Jim.

Upon seeing Spock, Jim’s determined expression breaks into the brightest of smiles and it feels as though light has finally returned to the world. He rushes forward and throws his arms around Spock’s shoulders, babbling apologies and “thank god”s. Finally he pulls away to press a firm kiss to Spock’s lips. Spock aches to simply touch him. He pulls away for good and Spock feels his heart jerk at the sight of Jim’s tears.

“Are you alright, ashayam?” he asks.

Jim barks out a laugh and scrubs at his cheeks. “I should be asking you that, babe,” he says softly, slipping behind Spock to begin work on his bindings. Spock shakes his head softly, a smile gently tugging at the corner of his lips. There’s a sharp click! and Jim taps his wrists. Spock brings his arms around to his front and rubs at the raw skin.

“How?” he asks quietly as Jim kneels before him to work on the bindings at his ankles. Jim lifts his head and gives him a crooked grin. The flash of his white teeth and bright blue eyes against the dim light of the cell takes Spock’s breathe away. “Let’s just say we have some very passionate friends,” Jim says, his voice strained as he finally frees Spock’s ankles from their prisons.

“Are you done yet?” a voice calls from the hallway. Spock looks up as Hikaru Sulu swings his head around the doorway to peer into the cell. “These Orions aren’t going to be out for much longer, you know?”

Hikaru is grinning at them, obviously enjoying the tension and high stakes of the “mission.” Spock feels his heart-rate spike as he remembers his appearance. But Hikaru barely spares Spock a glance as he pivots back around into the hallway. Spock meets Jim’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. Jim pats his back. “They took it well, don’t worry.”

A bit of relief crashes through Spock as he stands and follows Jim into the hall. He knows he will have to apologize to his friends for lying to them, but this is neither the time nor the place. Spock steps over the two sleeping Orion males that guarded his cell as Hikaru leads them through a maze of tunnels. “May I inquire to our location?” Spock asks softly.

Hikaru lets a bark of laughter slip through his lips. “Man, how did we never catch on?” he asks, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “You’ve always been so formal, Mi--I mean Spock, I don’t know how I never realized you were Vulcan.”

“If I remember correctly,” Spock says lightly, catching Jim’s elbow before his lover can trip on a crack in the floor, “you once joked that I could out talk a Vulcan. You were closer to the truth than you knew at the time.”

“Ha! I guess you’re right about that,” he says, stepping over another sleeping Orion. “Anyway, we’re on Alcatraz.”

“The 1930s prison in San Francisco Bay?” Spock asks, wondering vacantly how Jim and Hikaru immobilised all these Orions on their own.

“The very one,” Hikaru replies. He stops suddenly and steps onto the bottom rung of a ladder before turning to Spock. “We’ve gotta go up from here to get to the docks.” Spock nods and follows Hikaru up the ladder.

They climb in silence, listening closely to the hisses and creaks of the ancient structure. Spock stops short of getting a faceful of Hikaru’s ass when his friend stops suddenly (he pointedly ignores Jim’s suppressed giggle). Hikaru knocks rapidly three times followed by two slower knocks. They wait on the ladder for a few moments before the hatch above them creaks and yawns open. Uhura’s beautiful furrowed brow peers down at them, the moon illuminating her angelic features.  

“You guys are three minutes late,” she hisses. “The Orions could have woken up!” She pulls Hikaru, Spock, and Jim off the ladder and onto the rocky ground.

“But they didn’t wake up!” Jim points out brightly. “So I consider that a win!”

Uhura rolls her eyes and shuts the hatch carefully. “Whatever.” She pulls Spock into a brief hug. “You need to be more careful, asshole. We were worried about you.”

“I will endeavor to be more attentive of my surroundings in the future, Nyota,” Spock says quietly, squeezing her gently.

“Come on, we need to get back to boat before Pavel wears a hole into it,” Hikaru says. The group barely makes it a step forward when a figure rounds a large boulder and says in his sick, velvet voice, “Oh, you aren’t going anywhere.”

Spock tenses as the large Orion male steps into the light of the moon. He throws a hand in front of Jim and Uhura and moves to keep his body between his friends and his captor. The Orion simply grins, his teeth flashing like daggers against the dark bay. “How very noble of you, Son of Sarek, but I’m afraid you can’t protect your friends from what’s coming to them,” he purrs. “I have a very special punishment for those who try to take my things.”

“Spock isn’t yours ,” Jim hisses, pushing Spock’s arm aside to stand next to him. A united front.

The Orion narrows his eyes as his grin grows. “How touching,” he mutters. “Maybe I’ll have a little fun with you in front of--”

Spock and Jim flinch as the Orion grunts and stills before collapsing to the ground. In his place stands Dr. McCoy, his arms crossed, a scowl carved deeply into his face and a hypo clutched in his white knuckles. “You were taking too long,” he grumbles simply as they gape at him.

Jim grins and hops over the Orions. He throws his arms around McCoy’s neck and presses a wet, theatrical kiss to the doctor’s cheek. “Our hero!” he exclaims. Hikaru binds the large Orion quickly and efficiently as McCoy pushes Jim off with a grumble. Once they’re sure the Orion is securely bound, they follow McCoy down a small path to an old wooden dock nestled where the water meets to rocky shore.

A fishing boat waits at the end of the dock, Pavel and Scotty waiting proudly on her deck. They pull Spock and the rest onto the boat. Pavel flings himself at Spock, his voice wet as he babbles about how worried he’d been. Spock folds his arms around Pavel’s small frame and presses small apologies to the hair above the boy’s ear. Jim smiles at them quietly before turning to Scotty and Hikaru. Spock watches as Jim issues their friends a short list of orders. Scotty and Hikaru nod tersely and jump to their tasks. Not for the first time, Spock admires Jim’s natural ability to command.

Alcatraz fades into the stars as they make their way to shore. Spock watches the island get further and further away. A cool sea breeze brings the scent of salt and sea to his nose and he wonders what it had been like to sail out to sea and discover, for the first time, that your world was so much bigger than you ever dreamed it could be.

Jim comes his side, staring out at the water. His shoulder bumps into Spock’s with the rocking of the boat. The rhythm and quiet reminds Spock of his exhaustion and he is very tempted to sit down and catch a few moments of sleep before the inevitable fall out with Starfleet and . . . his father.

But there is something he must do before he can begin to relax once and for all. He turns and meets each of his friends’ eyes. Jim takes his hand and squeezes. Spock throws him an appreciative glance over his blush. Returning his gaze to his friends, he says gravely, “I must apologize to you all. I have done something impermissible and lied to you about my very nature. I have caused you undue distress, and for that I apologize. It was never my intention to . . .” He isn’t sure what to say here.

Scotty steps forward and claps a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Lad . . . we understand. You needn’t apologize to us f’r something ye cannae control,” he says in his naturally comforting tone.

Spock shakes his head. “No, I--I should not have--”

Pavel shoots forward and wraps his arms around Spock’s waist once more. “Ve are just happy you are okay, Spock,” he says, his voice thick again.

Tears begin to blur Spock’s vision as he feels Pavel’s wholehearted affection and relief crash into him. Scotty notices the tears in his eyes and whispers, “Oh, laddie,” and pulls Spock into his side. The next thing he knows, Uhura and Hikaru are wrapping their arms around him as well. Dr. McCoy comes close and reaches a hand out to squeeze the back of Spock’s neck, a small tight smile pulling at the doctor’s mouth. Overwhelmed by the affection and belonging that engulf him, Spock lets the tears spill from his eyes as he clutches his friends tightly.

A cool hand brushes the tip of his ear. Spock looks up and meets Jim’s eyes, reading the relief and apology in them. He knows they will have to talk about their argument later, but for now Spock is content enough to reach a hand out to cup Jim’s cheek. The vivid colors and shapes of Jim’s thoughts enter his mind and soothe the last of Spock’s nerves.

They sail on through the star filled sea, their hearts full and their minds quiet.

Chapter Text

Their boat rocks gently a while later, Scotty and Pavel working together to tie them to the clean metal dock. Spock had changed into a fresh pair of pants and button up shirt that Nyota had brought him. He stands next to Jim and Dr. McCoy now, staring up at the bright lights of San Francisco. McCoy lets out a heavy sigh. “Now what?” he asks gruffly.

Jim glances at Spock. “Now we hope we get lucky,” he says, his smile weak and tired.

McCoy scoffs. “I think we’ve used up all our luck tonight, Jimmy. Look.” He nods in the direction of the dock where two tall figures float toward them.

“Shit,” Jim hisses. “They figured it out.”

“Of course they figured it out,” McCoy growls, glaring at Jim harshly. “They told us they’d be keeping an eye on Alcatraz. Did you really think they’d waste a minute getting started?”

Jim shrugs, throwing their bags onto the dock. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I thought, Bones.”

“What are we going to do?” Hikaru asks, handing Jim another bag.

Jim glances at the approaching figures. “Play it by ear, I guess,” he says, pulling himself onto the dock.

“Who are they?” Spock asks, grasping Jim’s hand to let him pull Spock onto the dock. Spock brushes himself off as he surveys the figures now only 15.3 feet from them.

Jim leans down to pull Nyota and the doctor onto the deck. “They’re the Vulcan investigators assigned to your case,” he says simply.

Spock raises an eyebrow, now recognizing the robes and otherworldly grace. “And the human fumbling over himself to catch up to them?” he asks, pulling Pavel out of the boat.

“Oh him?” Jim asks, grabbing Scotty’s hand. “That’s Inspector Mallory from SCIS.” He pulls Hikaru onto the deck and straightens in time for the Vulcan investigators to reach them. “Good evening, investigators,” he says cheerfully. “Strange meeting you here this late at night.”

The Vulcan female comes close to rolling her eyes at him. “You are aware of why we are here, Cadet Kirk,” she says simply, her voice sparking a flood of memories in Spock’s mind. She turns her gaze to him. “It is gratifying to find you safe, safu t’Sarek ,” she says, raising her hand in the ta’al . Spock nods, returning the traditional greeting.

Inspector Mallory finally jogs up to the group, his chest heaving. “You,” he pants, “are in some hot water, Kirk.”

Jim crosses his arms. “Why? Because we rescued our friend?” he asks, his voice tight.

Mallory grins wildly. “You interfered in a SCIS investigation, trespassed on government property, probably assaulted outworlders, and aided in impersonation of an officer!” Mallory rocks on his feet. “You’ll all be facing a court martial for this.”

Spock glances at Jim and notices him pale slightly. Spock steps forward and inclines his head to the three investigators. “All of this can be traced back to my actions,” he says, his tone flat and logical. “Surely it would be illogical to punish exemplary cadets and officers who were simply caught up in the circumstances of their affiliation to me. I alone should bear the punishment for actions done on my behalf.”

He hears his friends begin to sputter their protests and throws a silencing look over his shoulder. Mallory shakes his head. “You can’t just--”

The Vulcan male raises his hand, silencing the investigator. “There may be some merit to your logic, safu t’Sarek ,” he says. Spock can see some fatigue in the male’s eyes and wonders how long they have been looking for him. “But it is late. You and your companions are no doubt fatigued by your activities. We will address the matter tomorrow, when the proper authorities are present.”

Spock nods, ready to meditate and fall into a deep sleep. Jim steps forward. “What about the Orions?” he asks, his voice tired but defiant.

The Vulcan male surveys him before extending a hand in the direction of the island prison. “The proper authorities have been notified and deployed to collect them,” he says. “I assure you the Orions will be given a fair trial for their actions.” Jim nods curtly, placated for the moment. “If you will follow me,” the Vulcan says, brushing past Mallory and up the dock.

They follow the Vulcans to their hover cars and pile in mutely, all aware that even though no arrest claims have been made the Vulcans can use anything they say against them. Spock keeps his shoulder pressed against Jim’s as he watches the city blur past them. He quietly wonders if he will be asked to leave Starfleet. He may even be asked to leave Vulcan. A heavy sorrow grips his heart at the idea.

Jim presses two fingers to Spock’s wrist, his own anxiety and exhaustion lapping against Spock’s shields like waves on the beach. Spock turns his hand and presses their fingers together, leaning even closer to Jim. They share a tender smile before Spock crumples and rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, his eyes drifting closed. Jim traces swirls and shapes on Spock’s palm, the rhythm comforting as Spock succumbs to his exhaustion and slips into a light sleep.

Spock is gently shaken awake as the hover car pulls up to the Vulcan Embassy. Spock stares at the building blearily as they step out of the car, the familiar slopes and angles of Vulcan architecture like arms welcoming him home. Then two arms do wrap around him, their familiar weight like an anchor to his soul.

“Oh, Spock!” his mother cries, burying her face into his shoulder. “We were so worried! Are you alright? Were you hurt?” Amanda pulls away and runs her hands over his shoulders and chest, checking for unseen injuries.

He catches his mother’s hands and presses them to his cheeks. “I am alright, Mother,” he says, his voice soft and tired. “I apologize for causing you undue distress.”

Amanda’s breath catches as her eyes fill with tears. She brushes her thumb against Spock’s cheek. “Oh, sweetie, I’m your mom. You will always cause me undue distress because it’s my job to worry about you,” she says, her smile wobbly.

Spock nods numbly, his awareness focusing in on his mother’s touch. His resolve crumbles and he slumps forward, holding onto Amanda so tightly he wonders if they will be able to separate. His mother lets out a soft breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I have missed you very much, Mother,” he says quietly.

Someone clears their throat behind her. Spock glances up over his mother’s shoulder and reflexively straightens, his mental shields clamping shut. Sarek watches as Spock slowly pulls away from his mother and stands closer to his friends. “Spock,” Sarek greets him, his voice as numb and serious as it has always been.

“Sarek,” Spock replies, resisting the urge to reach out for his mother--or Jim.

Sarek turns to the investigators. “I thank you for your service in retrieving my son,” he says, bowing to the pair.

“We did all the heavy lifting. Where’s our thanks?” McCoy grumbles before Nyota elbows him.

The Vulcan male--Sepok, Spock has learned his name is--turns to Spock and his friends. “You will appear before the Vulcan High Council tomorrow to address your transgressions,” he says. He spares them all a tert nod before he and his partner enter the embassy.

Sarek returns his attention to the group. “If you will follow me, I will lead you to your rooms.” Sarek leads them into the Embassy. Environmental controls make the air dry and hot around them, many of Spock’s friends shedding the light sweaters they wore for the cool September night. Spock feels some hidden tension release from his muscles as he settles comfortably into the familiar environment.

They enter the private wings of the Embassy where dignitaries and their families spend their stays on Earth. Spock watches as his friends filter into various rooms for the evening until only he and Jim remain in the hall with his parents. Before Sarek can give Jim the remaining room and instruct Spock to return to his family’s small wing of the Embassy, Spock grabs Jim’s hand and smiles softly at his mother. “Jim and I will sleep here tonight, Mother,” he says, avoiding his father’s eyes.

Amanda steps forward and cups Jim’s cheek, taking a long moment to look into Jim’s eyes. “Thank you,” she says to Jim. “What you’ve done is . . .”

Jim blinks, his confusion leaking onto Spock’s hand. “What I have done, I had to do.”

“But at what cost?” Amanda asks softly, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Your career? Your future?”

“If I hadn’t at least tried,” Jim says, squeezing Spock’s hand, “the cost would have been . . . my very soul.”

His mother makes a slightly strangled noise in her throat before pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek, making him blush softly. She turns to Spock and smiles cheekily. “I like this one, honey. You did good.”

Jim huffs a laugh as Spock lets a smile tug at his lips, his spine straightening with the praise. Amanda turns and brushes past Sarek, tugging only slightly on his robes. Sarek levels a cool look at Spock before giving them a curt bow and following his wife to their rooms.

“Sarek is a lot more intimidating in person,” Jim huffs, pulling the door to the room open. “But you’re mom is really nice. I’m not sure how they work, honestly.”

Spock slips in and shuffles to the bed. “Sarek once told me he married my mother because it was ‘logical,’” he says, tugging his boots off, “however I have learned with age that he . . . loves her very much.” He glances up at Jim. “Maybe even as much as I am beginning to love you.”

A wobbly smile graces Jim’s face. He sits down next to Spock and presses a kiss to his hand. He takes a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes, “for letting you leave. I . . . we should have--”

Spock rests his head on Jim’s shoulder. “I, too, am sorry for my actions,” he mumbles tiredly. “But I have put it past me now. Kaiidth. What is, is.”

“But,” Jim says, cupping the back of Spock’s head, “if I hadn’t asked you to leave then--”

“Jim,” Spock says sternly, “you cannot blame yourself for my kidnapping.” Jim bites his lip and looks away. Spock cups his cheeks and forces their eyes to meet. “Jim, it is not your fault.”

Jim lets out a breath and tips his head forward. “But the trial and the court martial--we might all get kicked out of Starfleet and it’ll be my fault we got caught.”

“That is not your fault either.” Spock tucks Jim under his chin as his arms pull him into Spock’s chest. “I have known that my secrets would be revealed eventually and that I would suffer repercussions for them. My only regret is that you and our friends have gotten wrapped up in them as well.”

“I still wish there was something I could do,” Jim mutters, rubbing his nose into Spock’s neck.

Spock smooths down the hair at the nape of Jim’s neck. “Come, ashaya, let us sleep.” Gently, Spock slips Jim out of his boots and his clothes. Jim gives him a sultry look that makes Spock struggle to shove down a smile. “Another time, ashayam,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Jim’s temple.

“I love the way you kiss me,” Jim whispers as Spock pulls the covers over them. “Makes me feel . . . tingly and special.”

“You are special, Jim.” He makes sure to say his name with all the reverence and love that Jim deserves.

Jim pulls Spock closer to him, his eyes beginning to fall closed with sleep. “I love you.”

Spock can feel the words shining in the space between their bodies.   

They wait in a large conference room the next morning. It is just after midday on Vulcan, and Sepok and T’Par are waiting for the Council to return from their meal to begin Spock’s hearing. Jim beats out a nervous rhythm on the table next to Spock, his eyes darting around the room.

“I can’t believe you don’t even get a lawyer,” he grumbles.

McCoy cuts in. “It’s down right uncivil is what it is! He deserves representation--no he deserves pardon! Spock hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“That is not necessarily correct, Doctor,” Spock says tiredly. “I have broken Vulcan law.”

“You should still have a lawyer here,” McCoy mutters, Jim nodding enthusiastically.

Spock can feel his father’s gaze on his neck. “All Vulcan citizens are intimately familiar with our laws; however this is just a hearing. I am not accompanied by a lawyer because I am simply explaining my case to the Council.”

McCoy crosses his arms and scowls at the holo-transmitter darkly. “Feels like a trap is what it is.”

Spock opens his mouth to offer some sort of comfort to his friend, but the transmitter beeps and Sepok announces that the Council will be on screen in a few moments. Jim begins fidgeting in ernest, his legs jumping around wildly under the table. Spock sneaks his hands onto Jim’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The screen flickers once before the grey and aged Council sits before them, structured and regal. Truly Vulcan. T’Pau raises her hand in a ta’al. “Peace and long life, Son of Sarek,” she says as greeting.

Spock returns the traditional greeting. “Live long and prosper, T’Pau.”

T’Pau surveys the room before folding her hands before her. “Investigators T’Par and Sepok, please step forward and list the charges.”

The investigators stand before the table and face the Council. “S’chn T’gai Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, member of the House of Surak, comes before this Council under the charge of identity fraud and for enlisting in Starfleet,” T’Par recites.

T’Pau nods and the investigators return to their seats. She turns her sharp gaze to Spock. “What have you to say for yourself, Spock?”

Spock stands and tugs at the hem of his tunic. “I object to the charges, Councilors.” Spock can feel his father’s steely gaze on his back. Jim seems to grow taller beside him as he stares down the Council.

“Explain,” Sparok of the House of T’Ren demands.

“You have charged me with identity fraud,” Spock begins. “I legally filed to change my name to Michael Grayson before I applied to Starfleet Academy. Therefore, I have not lied about my identity to any officials.”

“Yet you claimed humanity and enlisted,” T’Mir states.

Spock clasps his hands together behind his back, settling comfortably into parade rest. “As many ministers and peers have observed,” Spock begins, his voice flat, “I am half-human. I believe I am entitled to that claim, Councilor.”

T’Pau’s eyebrow quirks. “You are still a Vulcan citizen, Spock. You are thus bound by our laws, regardless of your human heritage.”

“Then please explain to me the logic that lead to the conclusion that Vulcan should remain absent from Starfleet.” These are fighting words and Spock knows it. No Vulcan challenges the Council's logic unless the have nothing to lose.

Spock, regretfully, has much to lose.

Solvar almost scoffs. “Has your time on Earth really dulled your logic so much, son of Sarek?” he asks. “Despite the emotionality you have been exposed to, you must remember Surak’s essential teachings. We have been taught to abhor violence in all forms.” He almost sneers at Spock, his hypocrisy painted on his face. “Or have you embraced that part of your humanity as well?”

Spock draws himself up to his full height, shoulders pushing back as far as they dare. “On the contrary, Councilor.” He makes sure his face is blank and his voice betrays nothing. “During my time among humans I have only grounded myself more in Surak’s teachings. It is how I have come to the conclusion that the law is illogical.”

“Illogical?” Solvar almost exclaims.

T’Pau raises a hand, silencing him. “Explain your reasoning, Spock.”

Curiosity and . . . pride tickle the dormant bond at the back of his mind. He ignores it, focusing on the Council. “Do you submit that change is the essential process of all existence?”

All of the councilors nod, their eyes trained on him.

“If change is inevitable, if change is predictable--beneficial even--does logic not dictate that we be a part of it?” Spock meets each of the councilors’ eyes, already seeing the realization dawning upon them.

“We cannot summon the future you suggest,” Sparok says gravely.

“No, we cannot,” Spock agrees. “But we can change the present.” A few councilors lean back in their seats, regarding him anew. “Nowhere is our wisdom and logic more sorely needed than on a ship of illogical and emotional humans.” Spock can imagine how McCoy bristles at that statement.

When none of the councilors answer, he pushes on. “If we see something wrong about the universe around us, does logic not dictate that we change it for the better? Starfleet may be caught between exploration and militarization, but Vulcan can help guide them away from the destructive path of violence.”

Spock feels Jim staring at him and risks glancing down at him. His grin nearly blinds him.

“There may be merit in your logic, Spock,” T’Pau says, a warm flicker in her eyes. She exchanges a brief look with the other council members. “We will consider your reasoning. Your charges are suspended until we have reached a decision. Dif-tor heh smusma.”

“Sochya eh dif,” Spock responds, raising the ta’al once more.

The transmitter beeps once, then darkens.

The room is silent at they all stare at the space the Council once occupied. Then Dr. McCoy begins clapping. Spock stares at him, his mind still reeling from the confrontation. Jim stands and grins at him. A grin cracks Spock’s face and a huff of laughter bursts from his lips. Filled with mirth, Spock draws Jim and McCoy into his arms.

“Spock.”

It is Sarek. Spock breaks away from his friends and steps forward. “Sarek,” he replies.

His father looks him up and down before clasping his hands before him in the same fashion he would when proposing an idea to foreign dignitaries. “You recall that I opposed your enlistment in Starfleet,” Sarek says, his voice diplomatic.

“How could I forget,” Spock replies, shamefully avoiding his mother’s chastising look.

Sarek only inclines his head, allowing the disrespectful quip. “It is possible,” his father begins slowly, “that judgement was incorrect.”

Spock lets an eyebrow quirk up, curiosity pushing aside his resentment.

“I see now how you have grown among the humans,” Sarek continues. “You have become more wise in the past 14.5 months than I could have predicted.” Sarek glances at Jim and McCoy who watch their exchange. “Your associates are people of good character.”

“They are my friends,” Spock responds plainly.

Sarek seems to pause at this, staring at his son deeply before saying with almost a sigh, “Yes, of course.” Sarek takes a deep breathe, glancing at Amanda. “I must take my leave now. May the Council decide in your favor.”

Spock nods. Embolden by the civil exchange, he allows a hint of his boyhood fondness to color his voice as he says, “Live long and prosper, Father.”

Sarek’s eyebrows jump up. “Live long and prosper, my son.” His voice is careful, reverent. As though he isn’t sure when he will be allowed to say the words again.

The day after they return to campus, Spock’s disciplinary hearing is held. His entire class is called to the auditorium so witness the hearing, many staring and whispering when they notice Spock take his seat next to Jim and Nyota. He tries to focus on Jim’s warm hand in his own instead of the deluge of voices around him.

The professors and presiding admiralty file in, reminding Spock of the story his mother once told him of the Hebrews who, according to legend, walked across a red sea under the blessing of their god.

The board takes their seats and calls the hearing to order. Admiral Barnett stands. “We are here today to address a grave matter. Cadet Grayson, please step forward.” Spock stands, tugging his uniform tunic down. He squeezes Nyota’s shoulder as he passes her and stands before a podium in the front of the room.

“Cadet, I want you to understand that if you were currently an officer, your actions would have resulted in a court martial,” Barnett says, his eyes compassionate. “You are being charged with impersonation of an officer.” He shuffles a few papers around. “This board calls Captain Christopher Pike to the stand.”

A grey figure in Spock’s peripheral vision stands and steps forward. Captain Pike catches Spock’s eye and winks, his confident smile steeling Spock’s nerves.

“Captain,” Barnett begins, seated once more with his hands clasped before him, “were you aware at the time of Cadet Grayson’s enlistment that he was not who he said he was?”

Pike frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, Admiral.”

Barnett makes a bague gesture. “When he enlisted, did you know his real name wasn’t Michael Grayson?”

“When Cadet Grayson came to me, Admiral, his legal name was Michael Grayson,” Pike says. “He has never lied to me about his legal identity.”

Barnett shares a shifty glance with the board. “But you knew he was not human?”

“Cadet Grayson is human, Admiral.” Pike doesn’t even glance at Spock.

Admiral April gestures at Spock. “Captain, you risk perjury! Grayson is standing right there, Vulcan ears and all.”

Pike smiles a bit, leaning forward on the podium. “Cadet Grayson may appear Vulcan, Admirals, but he is as human as you or me.”

“What?” Barnett asks, his brow furrowed deeply.

“If this cadet were to tell you he were Vulcan, we would all nod and agree with him, wouldn't we?” Pike explains. A few admirals nod along. “But he is half-human. Should he not then introduce himself as a half-human, half-Vulcan hybrid?”

“That’s not the same as claiming to be human,” Barnett argues.

Pike slaps his hand on the podium. “And why is that?” he asks rhetorically, meeting each of the admiral’s gaze. “Why can he claim to be Vulcan but not human? Because of his appearance?” A few admirals shift in their seats. “If Michael appeared human--had the rounded ears and all--and came before us and said ‘I’m a Vulcan,’ we would disbelieve him. But he has as much right to claim his human heritage as he does his Vulcan heritage.”

He leans back and stands at parade rest, victory shimmering off his shoulders. “Therefore, I submit to the board that Cadet Grayson has not lied at any stage of his progression through the Academy about his identity and should thus be considered not guilty.”

The auditorium stills in the wake of Captain Pike’s definite statement. Barnett breaks the stillness with a shake of his head. “You always were a stubborn bastard, Pike,” he says softly, a small smile pulling at his lips. He clears his throat and sits a little straighter. “Regardless, I’m afraid we are still faced with a problem. Cadet Grayson is still considered a Vulcan citizen and under Vulcan law is prohibited from enlisting in Starfleet.”

Spock clears his throat. “If I may interject, Admiral.” He gestures to the board’s PADDs. “If you would check your communications, I believe you will find that the Vulcan High Council has repealed the aforementioned law.” The information was an apology gift from his father, or so his mother claims.

The admirals check their PADDs. Barnett whistles under his breath as he scrolls through the comm from the Council. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says softly. He looks up and smiles gently at Spock. “I believe I have no other objections. Do you, gentlemen?” He addresses the remainder of the board. They shake their heads. Barnett smiles and stands. “Therefore, this board rules that the charges against Cadet Grayson are dropped and he may continue his studies at the Academy. Dismissed.”

The auditorium fills with chatter as the board files out of the room. Captain Pike approaches him and clasps a hand on his shoulder. “We did it, son.” His eyes are framed by his crow’s feet. “I can’t wait to have you on my ship.”

Spock inclines his head. “I look forward to serving with you, sir.”

Pike glances over his shoulder and his smile brightens. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club.” Spock turns to see his friends waiting, smiles warming his chest. Pike pats his back. “I’ll see you around, son.”

Before Captain Pike can make it five steps away, Pavel and Nyota throw their arms around Spock. “You did it!” Nyota cries, her tears wetting Spock’s shoulder.

Spock rests a hand on their backs. “I would argue that Captain Pike did all the work, Nyota.”

Nyota laughs as McCoy and Scotty approach with wide smiles, offering congratulations from a distance. Pavel and Nyota reluctantly peel themselves off of Spock. Before he can step forward, a new pair of arms swing around his waist. Spock lets out a huff of surprise as Jim hoists him into the air and twirls them around. “We did it!” he exclaims.

Spock allows a wobbly smile as Jim sets him down. There are tears gathering at the corner of Jim’s eyes and they tug at something in Spock’s side. He caresses Jim’s cheek. “That we did.”

4.73 years later

Location: aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701

Medbay is quiet as Spock steps through the glass doors. It is after dinner and most of the crew have already retired for the night. He passes Nurse Chapel, greeting her with a quiet nod, and enters a secluded corner of medbay. Doctor McCoy is standing at the biobed, reviewing the charts before he turns in for the night.

“Spock,” he says as a greeting, “wasn’t expecting you this late.” He barely looks up from the charts. They have already solidified this charade over the past two years on the Enterprise .

Spock rests a hand on the sheets of the biobed, surveying the doctor’s work silently. “I have come to check on his condition,” he says softly, afraid to wake the man asleep in the bed.

McCoy huffs, finally setting down the charts. He stares down at the man’s face, his features softening. “He’s the same as he was when you left, Spock,” McCoy says, his voice struggling to remain gruff. “Stubborn ass.”

Spock cannot help but nod in agreement. “I thank you for your services, Doctor.”

“Nah, don’t thank me,” McCoy says, shoving Spock lightly. “Just doing my job. Not that he makes it easy.”

“No, he does not,” Spock agrees quietly, a finger tracing the man’s hand.

McCoy pats his shoulder. “I’m turning in for the night. If he wakes up, make sure he gets something to drink and stays in bed.” He emphasizes the last part, as though his patient could hear him.

“I will, Doctor,” Spock replies, his eyes glued to the man’s face. “Good night.”

McCoy hesitates a moment before nodding to himself. “Good night, Spock.”

As Doctor McCoy leaves, Spock draws a chair closer to the bed and sits down. He let out a deep breath. His hand shakes as he gently held Jim’s strong calloused fingers. He brings the hand to his forehead, pressing it there--harder and harder--as though he could will Jim to understand what it was like to constantly fear for his beloved’s life.

Jim lets out a little groan and Spock worries he has let his fear through their connection. But it is just Jim pulling himself from sleep. Spock reaches for the glass of water the doctor left on the bed stand as Jim opens his eyes. “Hey, baby,” Jim whispers, his voice hoarse and his eyes fond.

Spock gives him a wobbly smile as he brings the glass to Jim’s lips. He watches as Jim drains the glass slowly. Jim squeezes the hand Spock still holds in his own, affection and weariness petting his shields. He finally finishes the glass and Spock returns it to the bed stand. He can feel Jim watching him as he fiddles with the sheets, tucking them closer to Jim’s body.

“You’re angry with me,” Jim says finally.

Spock pauses and turns to face Jim. “I could not be angry with you, ashayam .” Jim gives him a pointed look that causes Spock to shake his head gently. “I am not angry with you. Concerned, perhaps, but not angry.”

Jim rubs his fingers gently. “I’m okay now. Bones patched me up. I’m fine.”

It is a struggle not to sigh. “That is not why I am concerned, Jim,” he says.

“Then what is it?”

Spock hates arguing with Jim, but he knows this must be said. “You put too little value in your life, ashaya ,” he says softly, his gaze stuck on their hands. “I cannot bear to see you so near death again.”

“Spock,” Jim says, his voice just as soft, “you know I can’t just let people get hurt. Not when I can do something about it.”

“I know,” Spock says, “but is there no action you can take that ensures both your survival and the wellbeing of those you mean to save?” He knows Jim is chewing his lip now. “Jim,” his voice takes a graver cadence, “in only a few months Captain Pike will be promoted and you will be left the Enterprise. If you can not practice preservation for my part, then please, consider it for your ship.”

Jim pulls his hand away from Spock’s and he swears his heart sinks. Perhaps he has gone too far. Perhaps he should have considered his words more delicately. Perhaps--

“You’re thinking too much,” Jim says, his fingertips brushing Spock’s meld points. Warmth blossoms from their touch as Jim smiles wobbly. “I’m sorry. I should have realized how this affects you.” His hand moves to the back of Spock’s neck, a steady and sure weight. “I can’t promise I’ll always be okay,” Jim’s voice is low, only for him to hear, “but I’ll do my best, Spock.”

Spock closes his eyes. His mind sings as he lowers his shields and Jim’s golden light shines over him. “That is all I ask, ashal-veh .”

“Come here,” Jim whispers, tugging at the back of Spock’s neck. Spock climbs onto the biobed, careful not to jostle any of Jim’s injuries. He wraps his arms around Jim’s shoulders, his forehead tucked gently under Jim’s ear. He presses a kiss to Jim’s clavicle. “I love you,” he whispers.

He can feel Jim smile as they begin to drift to sleep. Their minds close through the contact, Spock is resigned to the fact that he will spend many more nights in medbay. He can’t think of that as a bad thing though. Not when he has found his place--his t’hy’la.